


Minuial

by Ilya_Boltagon



Series: Peredhil [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Atonement - Freeform, Birth Families, Dark Past, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Forgiveness, Gen, Magic, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Reunions, Shapeshifting, adoptive families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon
Summary: A year after Maglor and Arwen sailed to Valinor to find healing after Morgoth's bid for freedom, his subsequent defeat and return to the Void, they are attempting to build new lives in Valinor. But the past is not so easily left behind, and Maglor has many amends to make for the sins of his past. The Valar may have pardoned him, but there are some less divine beings who have not... This is the sequel to Eleni i Fuin: Stars and Shadows, and this story will make a lot more sense if you've read that first.
Relationships: Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Arwen Undómiel & Elwing (Tolkien), Arwen Undómiel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Dior Eluchíl & Elwing, Dior Eluchíl/Nimloth of Doriath, Elwing & Maglor | Makalaurë, Eärendil/Elwing (Tolkien), Eärwen/Finarfin | Arafinwë, Finarfin | Arafinwë & Maglor | Makalaurë, Finrod Felagund | Findaráto & Elwing (Tolkien), Finrod Felagund | Findaráto & Maglor | Makalaurë, Idril Celebrindal/Tuor, Maglor | Makalaurë & Amras & Amrod (Tolkien), Maglor | Makalaurë & Nerdanel, Nerdanel (Tolkien) & Amras & Amrod (Tolkien), Nimloth of Doriath & Elwing, Original Character & Everyone
Series: Peredhil [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645723
Comments: 184
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story 'Minuial' is an Elvish Sindarin word for the time just before dawn, where stars are still visible, but the Sun is just lighting the horizon, used because I am trying to keep using sky-related words in the titles of this series, and because it will eventually fit the theme of this story (if all goes as planned.)
> 
> http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Minuial

The Sun was just becoming visible in the East as Anariel finished breaking her fast with bread and honey, and a small pot of sweet tea, and waited patiently for the next part of her morning routine. A large white bird became visible in the rising light of the dawn, flying ever closer to the tall window at the top of their tower, and Anariel stood. She tidied her braided blonde hair, straightened her gown and smiled at the soft sound of her Nana slipping to the floor from the windowsill, her body illuminated by a glow as her winged form shifted back into the body of an elleth.

Nana yawned and stretched in the same movement, tired, for she had been on Vingilot with Ada all night. Usually, she only flew out in the evening to see him off, then returned to pass the night with Anariel, before returning to Ada just before dawn, to accompany him home. Last night, things had been different, but that happened sometimes. All Anariel knew was that sometimes her parents wished for privacy. It had always been that way, for as long as she could remember, so she didn't question it.

Nana smoothed a hand over Anariel's (untidy) braid. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well last night?”

Anariel nodded, though in fact, she hadn't. She had had strange dreams about a place she had never seen, a valley surrounded by waterfalls, and had seen an ellon, far older than her, with black hair and odd silver-blue eyes, staring westwards. He had seemed so very sad, and her heart had ached, even though she did not know who he was. She wouldn't tell Nana about that, though, it hadn't been a _scary_ dream, and she didn't want to make her mother feel bad about the brief amount of time she could spend with Ada, alone- they so rarely had privacy. “Is Ada going to spend time with us today, or does he need rest?” It varied- sometimes he had energy enough to spend the day with her and Nana, talking and playing. Those were Anariel's favorite days. Other times he was exhausted from sailing Vingilot through the skies all night and needed to sleep. When that happened, Anariel would work on her lessons and help Nana with keeping their home clean and tidy, then, after lunch, they would go outside to the cove. Nana would walk amidst her birds and Anariel would explore. There was often _something_ small that she hadn't seen before, that she could take home and show Ada later, before he left again in the evening. Eager to see her father, Anariel glanced out of the window, down towards the small dock, not far from the base of their tower, where Vingilot was being moored.

“Ada needs rest today, little one, as do I.” Nana sighed. “I'm sorry, but today I fear you will have to work on your lessons alone. Once that is done, however, you need not do any further work today. You may go outside, and take lunch with you. The birds will keep you company, and Ada and I will waken in time for dinner and fetch you. Just do not-”

“Go outside of the cove. I know, Nana.”

Nana pressed a kiss to her head, then turned, her face lighting up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs that wound up from the ground to the top of the white tower that was their home. The door opened a few minutes later, and Anariel beamed, flinging herself forward, laughing as Ada caught her in his arms and hugged her tightly, swinging her feet off the floor. “Good morning, my little Sun. And how long have you been risen today?”

Anariel giggled. “I just finished breakfast, Ada. I wanted to see you before you went to sleep.”

He peered at her closely. “And you were alright by yourself? I do worry every time you're left alone here, at your age...”

“I'm fine, Ada, really.” She didn't want him to worry. “I was just sleeping, and didn't even know Nana wasn't here.”

Ada didn't look fully convinced, but his expression brightened a little as Nana joined in the embrace, whispering softly to him, words Anariel couldn't make out. She grinned, and caught some loose strands of Ada's hair in her hand, twisting them into her own braid, seeing how long it would take him to notice.

Nana spotted her first, however, and tsked, shaking her head and beginning to untwist the modified braid. “Honestly, Anariel, what are you doing?” A faint smile played about her lips, lightening the tone of her scolding.

Ada laughed at his new hairstyle. “I think our daughter was indeed trying to discern if she and I do have the same hair. I believe we must, for in truth I cannot tell which is mine and which is hers now!”

Anariel burst into peals of laughter at that. “Yes, Nana, Ada and I are twins now!” She clamped a hand to her mouth a minute later as Ada's laughter stopped and Nana's face darkened. “I'm sorry.” She had forgotten that her parents didn't like talk of twins- it reminded them of their first children, twin sons, one who had died, the other who remained in Middle-Earth. Nana had told her once, while Ada was sleeping, that her older brothers had been stolen by bad Elves and Nana and Ada had never seen them since. Ada had told her that while one of her brothers had died long ago, he had been a great King of Mortals (not that Anariel knew anything about Mortals, except that she had their blood in her veins from Ada's father and Nana's grandfather) and her surviving brother Elrond ruled his own realm in Middle-Earth and had his own family now.

She had never been sure what to make of this: had her brothers gotten away from the bad Elves and become good people, or had they grown up good despite these bad Elves holding them captive? Nana hadn't told her any more than that, and she didn't want to upset her, or Ada, by asking. Maybe she could speak to her grandparents Dior and Nimloth about it, or Great-Great-Grandmother Melian, the next time any of them visited the tower, or she could ask her tutor, Uncle Finrod, the next time they went to Tirion for one of the three-monthly reviews of her learning?

Ada was the first to manage to smile again. “It's alright, iell nin.”

Nana frowned, but Ada gave her a look that Anariel couldn't interpret. “We can't keep acting as if our other children are a taboo subject, my love. Anariel deserves to know more of them. Especially considering the news I gave you last night.”

Anariel turned to look at him, intrigued, then paused. “News? Do I need to leave so you can talk alone?” Sometimes, Ada had news that he and Nana didn't want her to hear, after all, saying she was too young.

“No, Anariel, this will affect you too, but don't worry,” Ada's blue eyes, the exact color of Anariel's own, were twinkling. “It is good news.” He took a deep breath. “I did not tell you this before now, but around a year ago, your brother's daughter made her way here by ship.”

Anariel's eyes widened. “Elrond's daughter? My niece? A whole _year_ ago?” She turned to Nana. “Why didn't you tell me? Why haven't we met her yet?”

Nana's reply was terse. “I only found out myself last night, Anariel.”

Her jaw dropped and she turned back to Ada. His eyes were narrowed now, focused on Nana even as he addressed Anariel.

“As I told your naneth last night, I kept quiet on the subject because Arwen was very ill for a long time, and I saw no point in raising either of your hopes of knowing her if it turned out that...” He shook his head.

Anariel held her breath. “Why was she ill, Ada?” Could the bad elves who had once stolen Elrond and Elros have done something to this Arwen?

Ada sighed, speaking with great care as he replied. “There was an attack on her spirit that gravely hurt her, forcing her to leave Middle-Earth. She has been in the Gardens of Lorien until a mere few days ago, unable to have many visitors. Now I have learned from one of Lord Manwë's Eagles that she recovers, so she and... her guardian will be able to find a place to live among our people, and I hope that you will be able to meet your niece soon.”

Nana sighed but nodded, and Anariel had an odd feeling that an argument had just ended, even though she hadn't realized why one had been happening- Ada was only trying to protect them from news that might have been sad, so why had Nana been angry? She shook the thoughts off- they had reconciled, so it didn't matter. And she might get to meet her niece soon! She beamed at the thought of having a little niece to take care of. She could help her continue to get better, share her favorite books with her, have someone to talk to in the cove (besides the birds that were always there)... “How old is Arwen, Ada, and when can we go and meet her?”

Ada smiled at her, taking Nana's hand, ruffling Anariel's hair with his free one. “I imagine you might get to see her in a few weeks, once she and her... her ada's friend have gotten settled in their new home. As for her age...” He tilted his head to one side. “I think she may be around thirty-three by now.”

Anariel stared. “But I am only twenty-seven! How can my niece be _older_ than me?”

Her parents exchanged looks and burst out laughing. She stamped her foot, having no idea why Nana and Ada found that so funny! She didn't receive an answer beyond "Elrond is a great deal older than you, Anariel." Which she already knew, but it still didn't make sense that her brother's daughter would be older than she was! Aunts were meant to be older than their nieces, weren't they? She puzzled over it as her parents retired and she set about her lessons. Just how much older than her _was_ Elrond? She had always been told he was born in Middle-Earth, 'a long time ago' but how long ago did that mean, exactly? Why did her parents never talk about it? Maybe Arwen could explain more about Elrond, and Nana and Ada's lives with him, when Anariel got to meet her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is really just setting the scene, introducing Anariel, and revealing some details about her life. She is an original character, but then again, who says Elwing and Ëarendil didn't have any more (surprise) children after settling down in Valinor? Maglor and Arwen will be in the next chapter, I promise. Anariel's name means 'Sun-daughter', so named because, like Ëarendil (or my interpretation of him) she has bright-blonde hair and sapphire-blue eyes. Physically, she is the image of her father.
> 
> Clarification on the ages of Arwen and Anariel: Elves (and Peredhil) age differently to mortals, so Arwen, at thirty-three, is the equivalent of a twelve/thirteen year old. Anariel, aged twenty-seven, is the equivalent of a nine/ten year old.


	2. Chapter 2

Maglor felt Arwen's hand slide into his as they left the stable-yard after seeing to their horses and paying the stable-hand for the stalls, and stepped out into the streets of Tirion. They could, of course, have ridden straight to the palace, but that would have drawn far more attention to their arrival. Better, he thought, to arrive as inconspicuously as they could, to keep people from flocking to gawk at them in the streets for as long as possible. The year in the Gardens of Lorien had worked miracles for Arwen, and he could still tear up with relief at the simple act of her walking beside him, her strength and vigor renewed. But what Lorien did not have was large crowds of people- or any people, really, save those who needed healing, or those few Elven healers and the Maiar who tended to the patients. It was a beautiful, peaceful place, where one had all the time in the world to relax, but it was not a place for an elfling to grow up. It was time for him, and Arwen, to face the real world once again, in his old home of Tirion.

Towards the end of their sojourn in Lorien, they had had a surprise visit from Finrod, who had evidently been reborn for several centuries. Maglor had frozen at first at the sight of his cousin, once one of his closest friends, made an enemy and sent to his death through the actions of Maglor's own brothers, but Finrod had cut across his stream of apologies, insisting that he bore no grudge now; having been reborn, his past was little more than a dream. His relentless kindness and friendliness had worn Maglor down, and Arwen, upon being told Finrod was her great-uncle (and also her cousin, several times over) had eventually overcome the shyness she felt, and Finrod had clearly been charmed by the child, quiet and timid as she was now. Of course, Finrod had only been told what the Elves of Lorien had been told: that Arwen's fea had been gravely damaged, necessitating her sailing and the time in Lord Irmo and Lady Este's care (said care had also included many talks between them and Maglor, but Finrod did not need to know that). The exact reasons behind Arwen's injuries, and the culprit behind them, were kept hidden, much to Maglor's relief. He thought that mention of the Enemy could stain Arwen's reputation here, and that would not help her to settle in.

Before the end of his visit, Finrod had extended an open invitation from his father Arafinwë (Maglor had had to translate the Quenya name to Finarfin, for Arwen's sake), to stay at the palace in Tirion upon leaving Lorien, until they found a home of their own.

The thought of facing his uncle, the king of the Noldor, for the first time since he and Maedhros had disgraced themselves during the War of Wrath, stealing the Silmarils, filled Maglor with trepidation, but the unstoppable force that was Finrod had somehow gotten him to agree, so now, here he and Arwen were.

Arwen pressed closer to him, nervously, as they reached busier parts of the city- it had been so long since she had been around large numbers of people, it was no wonder she was uneasy, especially since all those here were strangers to her, and Tirion itself was larger and far grander than any place she had ever seen before- Imladris and Lothlorien, the only two places she had dwelt in back in Middle-Earth, were _tiny_ compared to Tirion, the huge, sprawling city upon the green hill of Túna. Maglor himself, with his unimpressive brown hair and casual clothing, did not draw much attention as they walked through the streets, (much to his relief: he dreaded being recognized and hearing 'Kinslayer' hissed in his wake, even if he deserved it, Arwen did not need to hear such things). Arwen, however, with her unusual blue-black hair, startling silver-blue eyes, alabaster-white complexion and the promise of great beauty in her childlike face, was drawing plenty of gazes, so much so that she shrank back in the end and cast the hood of her cloak over her face.

“Daerada, people keep staring at me,” she whispered. He could feel her little hand trembling, and paused, drawing her to the side of the path so they did not impede anyone's progress and kneeling before her, laid a hand upon her shoulder. He must not let himself forget that she was still fragile from her experiences, as well as being in a strange place and knowing only one person- himself- well.

“They are just curious about a new face, Undómiel, there is naught to fear.” He resisted a sigh- despite his reassurances, he still suspected that Arwen feared punishment for Morgoth's manipulation of her, should it be revealed to any besides the Valar. That, and the fear she still had of darkness- she would not sleep unless some manner of light burned beside her bed, even if it was merely a candle, and even then, she still suffered nightmares that required his voice and music to awaken and calm her. Physically, she was back at full strength, but the scars done to her fea would take far longer to heal. _If ever they do at all_. He knew that some damage left marks that lasted forever.

Thankfully, she seemed to accept his words, taking a deep breath and nodding, stepping bravely back onto the street and lowering her hood. They resumed making their way to the palace, with Arwen remaining glued to his side and avoiding eye contact with others. Maglor would have _paid_ the onlookers to cease gawking as if they had never seen an elfling before, but, he supposed, he was used to Arwen's looks. To those who did not know her, she would appear ethereal, exceptional, even among the typical beauty of the Eldar.

Soon the gates of the huge palace, carved from mithril, loomed before them. The vast grounds of the palace were visible just beyond, but two guards stood before the gates, their expressions blank, their eyes curious. As one, they moved to bar Maglor and Arwen's entrance. Maglor sighed openly. _Perhaps I should have sent word of our arrival after all._ He had not done so because that would have meant an escort being sent for them, creating even more attention and fuss that would have unsettled Arwen more. Now, though, how were they to pass the guards if they were not expected? If he introduced himself, the guards might say something unpleasant that he did not wish Arwen to hear.

“State your business here.” One of the guards spoke, addressing Maglor, his tone firm but not unkind.

Maglor thought quickly. “My... young ward and I were extended an invitation to visit by His Highness Prince Findaráto, some weeks ago.” He spoke in Quenya, as he had been teaching Arwen more of the language that would be commonly used here, and he wished her to become used to hearing it as well as speaking it. He had not introduced Arwen as his granddaughter, for although she was such in his heart, and hers, in legal terms, she was merely his cousin-by-many-removes, and his ward. “If you would have word sent to him of our arrival-”

“Under what names?” The other guard now spoke, looking sceptical. “You and the elfling are strangers here: are you Returnees from Middle-Earth? If so, I cannot see what our prince can have to do with you.”

Maglor tensed: if he gave his name, revealing himself as a surviving son of Fëanor, surely any goodwill the guards might offer would be revoked, but on the other hand, he and Arwen could not remain out here all day! He took a deep breath, hoping these guards had enough decorum to not say anything harsh in front of Arwen, but preparing to clap his hands over her ears just in case. “I am-”

“Kinsman!” The joyous, feminine voice echoed across the grounds, as light footsteps sounded, approaching the gates. As one, both guards bowed low, as Eärwen, Arafinwë's wife and Queen, approached. She was smiling warmly. “I wondered how long it would be before you would come to see us all, after my son invited you- and your young friend.” Her smile turned upon Arwen, who returned the expression, shyly. At a gesture from Eärwen, the guards pulled open the gates, and Maglor led Arwen past them, executing his own bow before Eärwen, pleased to see Arwen giving a small curtsy of her own, following his example despite not knowing who this grandly dressed, silver-haired elleth was. He was also grateful that Eärwen, his aunt, had not immediately addressed him as 'Nephew', as that would surely have given away his identity to the guards.

Eärwen linked her arm through Maglor's free one (doing her best not to recoil from his scarred hand, but not quite succeeding), and led him and Arwen into the palace grounds, out of the sight of the guards. Once they were alone, she turned to face them fully, and Maglor braced himself for a less friendly greeting, feeling Arwen press close to him once again, perhaps picking up on his tension, as he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders.

Eärwen stepped forward, and Maglor found himself wrapped in a warm embrace before he had a chance to think of a single word to say. “I have a feeling you expect punishment, Nephew,” she whispered in his ear, “But from what I have heard, you exiled yourself for an Age. That, with all else you have endured and lost in Middle-Earth, suggests you have tormented yourself more than enough for any number of lifetimes.”

Maglor fought to keep his jaw from dropping- Eärwen, she who had been born princess of Alqualondë, could forgive his actions so easily?! She had always been kind to him, she and Arafinwë both, but this? It was the opposite of what he had been expecting.

Eärwen gave him one last squeeze, as if she guessed his thoughts and wished to reinforce her words, before releasing him and turning to Arwen, who still stood meekly by his side. A pang struck his heart at the sight, for before her ordeal, she would have been smiling and eagerly excited to meet a new person. Now, her hanging back, unsure of herself, was just another sign of how changed she was. _But one that can be improved,_ he told himself. _She just needs time_.

Eärwen smiled gently at the elfling, who, although young, was tall- already she nearly reached Eärwen's shoulder. “Now, you must be young Arwen. Findaráto told me a great deal about you. You're the granddaughter of Ëarendil and Elwing, aren't you?” She tilted her head to one side, as if curious. “Or did Findaráto tell me you're my own great-granddaughter, Artanis- Galadriel's granddaughter? I am sure it was one of the two...”

Maglor couldn't help but grin, knowing Eärwen was teasing: she would know full well Arwen's lineage, but her light teasing seemed to work, putting Arwen at ease, because the child stifled a giggle and stepped a little closer to Eärwen. “I am both.” She stated, quietly, a small smile on her face. “But I call Maglor- Makalaurë- Grandfather, because he raised my Ada.” She glanced down immediately after saying this, her shoulders hunching, as if she feared admonishment or correction.

A warm feeling swelled in Maglor's chest at her words: it never ceased to amaze him how accepting of his adopted role in Elrond's life she, and her brothers, had always been.

Eärwen nodded in response, briskly, as if this were a well known fact: perhaps Finrod- Findaráto, Maglor reminded himself, he needed to readjust to using Quenya, not Sindarin- had told her and Arafinwë of Maglor's 'new' family? “You met your Uncle Findaráto while you were in Lorien, didn't you?”

Arwen nodded, but didn't offer any more words.

Thankfully, Eärwen did not draw attention to how quiet Arwen was being. “Well, if his attitude has not frightened you off meeting any more family, he and his wife Amarië, and my husband Arafinwë, are walking in the gardens not far from here. Would you like me to introduce you to more of our family?”

Arwen looked nervously up at Maglor, as if awaiting his opinion or permission. He nodded encouragingly, again feeling a pang of grief for the excitable elfling who would once have torn off without a backward glance, thrilled at the thought of meeting new people, who might now be gone for good. Eärwen offered her hand to Arwen, and slowly, she took it (although her grip tightened on Maglor's hand as well, for comfort.) All three were linked together as Eärwen led them deeper into the royal gardens that surrounded the palace. Lush, verdant and green, much of it was as Maglor remembered, though some features- new trees, flowerbeds, statuary- had not been there the last time he had seen this place. But it was still beautiful, a sunlit, tranquil place.

Voices came from just ahead, gleeful and interspersed with laughter, and Arwen released Eärwen's hand, shrinking back to Maglor's side once again as three golden-haired figures came into view. Finrod, of course, Arwen had seen (once) but the other two, Arafinwë and Amarië, were strangers to her eyes. Maglor himself felt his worries building anew. Eärwen might have (for some reason) forgiven his past sins, and Finrod had never been the type to hold a grudge, but Arafinwë might be another matter, and he scarcely knew Amarië. What manner of greeting would they have for him, after so long?

 _At least I do not have to have this reunion in front of the whole court,_ he told himself, as Finrod saw them, and with a cheerful shout, led his father and his wife over to greet them. Maglor focused on Arwen, unable to bring himself to meet Arafinwë's gaze. _Hopefully this conversation will not be too painful..._


	3. Chapter 3

Anariel struggled to concentrate on the lesson she was meant to be working on- an essay about the construction of Tirion, and Vanyamar, and Alqualondë, comparing the similarities and differences between all three cities, with lots of references to other Elven realms that had once existed across the Sea in Middle-Earth, but her mind kept wandering: partly to Arwen, her niece: she was still eager to meet her and (hopefully) become friends with her, but a larger part of her mind kept fretting over her naneth.

A messenger had come to their tower a few days ago, from Tirion, bearing a letter for Ada and Nana, with a pretty star-shaped seal that Anariel had never seen before, but Nana had gone white upon seeing it, and Anariel had been shooed away before she got a chance to get a better look at it. She'd tried to sneak back, to listen at the closed sitting room door, but Ada had caught her and sent her outside.

A few minutes later, she had heard Nana shouting about something. (She didn't know what, because she had run off to escape the noise.) Ada had come to fetch her some time later, but Nana had been ill-tempered ever since, barely speaking to Ada. Anariel didn't like it. Trying to cheer things up, she had asked when they might travel to Tirion and meet Arwen, but Nana had turned away, scowling, much to Anariel's shock and upset, and Ada, looking troubled, had only said 'soon', which could mean anything from a few weeks to a year!

Nana's ill temper continued, and she took to spending the days outside with her birds, avoiding Ada, only returning to the tower in the evenings when he left to sail the skies.

Ada was keeping Anariel company today, engrossed in a book of his own while Anariel studied. Sometimes, when he was overseeing her schooling, she could start talking, and then 'forget' her lessons. (It always made Ada laugh, but he never stopped her from doing it.) Nana was indoors at last, in the kitchen, preparing lunch- but from the loud manner in which she was opening and closing cupboard doors and setting down dishes, Anariel got the impression that perhaps Nana and Ada's disagreement was not over _quite_ yet. She frowned, trying to puzzle out why. Was it all because of something that had been in the letter from Tirion, that she had seen Nana burning, when she had thought Anariel asleep? What could have been in the letter to make Nana so angry? Timidly, she looked up at her father. “Ada?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I look at the letter that came from Tirion the other day? You normally let me read the letters you get...” Of course, this particular letter was nothing but ash by now, but she was curious to see if Ada knew that, or not.

“That... is not the best idea. Besides, your nana put it away somewhere, and I do not know where.”

“She burned it, Ada. I saw her, the other night.” She wasn't sure if she should have told him that, because his expression darkened.

“Did she.”

Anariel nodded, feeling morose. “Was it bad news?”

“No.”

“But then why-”

Ada sighed heavily. “Anariel, little one, some things are private, matters that you are not ready to hear or understand. They are not fit for young ears.”

“But Nana is upset with you! It's because of something that was in that letter, wasn't it? Why won't you tell me?” Anariel felt her lip wobble, and tears formed in her eyes. Her parents, so far as she knew, _never_ quarreled beyond a few heated words that were soon forgotten, and Nana being angry for so long scared her!

Ada knelt beside her chair and began smoothing her hair, in an attempt to calm her, his face remorseful. “I am sorry, iell nin. It grieves me to see you sad, but Nana and I... she is unhappy because she has found out that Arwen's guardian is... someone she does not like, and the letter was from him. Try not to worry. She will calm down sooner or later. Please, do not distress yourself.”

Anariel blinked several times, not fully convinced by his words, and not understanding what he meant, either- why would Nana not like the elf that Elrond had chosen to take care of his daughter? “Why doesn't she like him, Ada?”

Ada grimaced. “It... it's complicated, Anariel.”

She stamped her foot in frustration. “But _why_?”

He merely shook his head and did not reply, instead tugging her closer in an embrace. “Please trust me, iell nin. I _promise_ you, everything will be alright soon.”

The familiar feeling of her ada's arms around her did comfort her, and she did not want to make him angry too, so Anariel quieted herself, snuggling into his embrace. In her mind, though, questions still whirled. What was really going on here? With Arwen, her mysterious guardian, the letter, Anariel's own parents...

Something very important was being hidden from her, she just knew it. Something that had frightened and angered Nana, something Ada thought she was too young to know, about Arwen and the elf that had sailed with her. All that remained was for Anariel to find out what, and somehow fix it so Nana and Ada could be happy again.

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Iell nin: My daughter (literally 'daughter mine'.)**


	4. Chapter 4

Chink. Chink. Chink.

Nerdanel's hammer and chisel rose and fell, chipping away at the smooth granite she was currently shaping with perhaps more force than was needed. Her mind was only half on the statue she had been commissioned to create: the other half fretted over a decision she had been struggling with since she had learned of her second-born's arrival in Tirion.

 _Should I tell them or shouldn't I?_ Her brow furrowed as she ran over the situation again in her mind. Her two youngest sons, Ambarussa and Ambarto (who now insisted on the use of their Sindarin names, Amrod and Amras, uncouth and coarse as the names sounded), had been reborn around half a century ago, and dwelled in this house with her, on the very outskirts of Tirion. In many ways, it was as if her twins had never left, for they acted much as they used to, before leaving for Middle-Earth, so long ago: doing everything together, showing no desire to begin leading separate lives, and spending a great deal of their time outdoors, either hunting or simply exploring the wilds of Valinor. She had not yet told them of Makalaurë's- or 'Maglor's', she supposed, return, despite several weeks having passed since Arafinwë had written to inform her of it.

Nerdanel, in truth, longed to see her second son, but... he had not come to her, nor sent word of his presence. It could well be that he was ashamed to face her- the deeds of her sons in Middle-Earth in the First Age, when she learned of them, had grieved and angered her for some time, but it never changed her love for her estranged children. Makalaurë, however, had no way of knowing that. In addition, Nerdanel knew that he had travelled home with an elfling in his charge: the daughter of his own adopted son, and the child was still recovering from some damage to her fea. The very thought made Nerdanel shudder; what manner of monster would cause harm to an elfling? Of course, she knew of several servants of evil that would do so, easily, but surely all such things had been banished from Arda with Morgoth? She closed her eyes, trying to organize her thoughts. If the child was as withdrawn and shy as Arafinwë had said, only truly feeling comfortable around Makalaurë, then perhaps meeting other members of his family would be too much for her at present? But on the other hand, Makalaurë was her _son_ , and she, and Ambaruss- Amrod and Amras, she corrected herself- had a right to see him, did they not? And surely he would wish to know that his youngest brothers had been restored to life?

What was the best course of action to take?

Shaking her head, she threw down her chisel in frustration. It scarcely ever took her this long to make a decision: why could she not decide what to do here? She sighed heavily, letting her head slump forward, which solved nothing and only made her tied-back red hair fall into her face, obscuring her vision.

The slamming of the back door, and the pounding of two sets of feet, racing towards her, made her start, the movement flipping her hair back behind her shoulders.

“Amil! We're home!” Amb- Amrod and Amras called in unison, bursting into her studio without even knocking. Letting out another, deeper sigh, Nerdanel set down her sculpting tools and stood, turning to face them. She tried to look exasperated at their exuberance and all the noise they were making, but the corners of her lips tugged upwards and in truth she could not hide the joy her heart felt at having her two youngest children back with her. “Just come on in, why don't you.” Her voice was wry, but her smile grew as she took in their bedraggled appearances: mud on their boots and cloaks, and leaves and twigs in their unbound red hair. They had been on a trip, teaching Ingalaurë, the forty-year-old son of Finrod and Amarië, how to hunt, and camping outdoors for the past few weeks. “I assume Ingalaurë made it home in one piece?”

Both twins nodded. “He was very enthusiastic, Amil, although he does not have the greatest skill in hunting.” Amrod looked pensive.

Nerdanel almost laughed. “Neither did the two of you when you were but forty! Not even Tyelkormo-” She cut herself off abruptly, suddenly sorrowful at the thought of her third son, still in Mandos. No matter what he had done, how cruel and twisted he had become, she still wished him back among the living, but that might never be.

Both the twins looked sad now too, all the joy they had radiated fading from their faces at the reminder of one of their lost older brothers, all of whom they had once idolized.

Nerdanel took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. _I have to do this. They deserve to know_. “Would the two of you like to sit down? I have something to tell you.”

“This sounds ominous.” Amras muttered to his twin, perhaps assuming Nerdanel could not hear.

Amrod gave her an innocent look. “Whatever it is, Amil, we did not do it. We only just arrived back in Tirion!”

Nonetheless, they took a seat upon the thick bench that usually housed Nerdanel's completed statues, both looking at her expectantly.

She moved to join them, sitting between them, as there were no other seats in her studio. “A day or so after you left with Ingalaurë, I received a letter from Arafinwë.” She paused, having no idea how the twins might react to this, but taking hold of each of their arms so they could not go racing off immediately and cause a scene in the Noldoran's palace. “A year ago, it seems that Makalaurë was permitted to Sail at last.”

Both ellyn opened their mouths to reply, but the look she shot them kept them silent.

“I do not know why the Valar did not see fit to inform us of this, but it seems Makalaurë spent several months in the Gardens of Lorien, with the daughter of his adopted son, Elrond Peredhel.” The name was odd to her, but she was fairly certain her sons would at least have heard of him. “The elfling was somehow injured in fea, and took some time to begin recovering, I know no more than that. The child, Arwen I believe her name to be, is now your brother's ward. I am told they made their way to Tirion around two weeks ago, and are at present living with Arafinwë and Eärwen.”

Amrod and Amras were stock-still for a few minutes.

“Cano's home?” Amras whispered at last, using the derivative of Makalaurë's father-name that he and Amrod had both used for their beloved brother when they had been elflings. From his expression, he did not dare to believe it.

Amrod shook his head slowly. “Why has he not come to see us?”

“It may be that he does not yet know you have been reborn,” Nerdanel spoke gently. “Remember the shock you both felt upon returning to Tirion? Makalaurë is doubtless going through the same, but he also has a child to care for.”

The twins exchanged a long look, then as one turned to her, their eyes shining with hope, speaking in unison, though whether this was intentional or not, she had no idea. “When can we go and visit him?”

Nerdanel's heart ached with longing at the very thought, but she knew that to rush this reunion could cause more problems than it would solve. “I honestly do not know. The two of you must try and remember that Makalaurë will be considering the child's welfare too, and you will recall how protective he could be of elflings, I am sure.” She thought for a moment. “It is Arafinwë's Begetting Day in a month. If, by then, we have not heard from Makalaurë, and we do not see him at the celebration, then we can ask Arafinwë or Eärwen when it would be best for us to call.” She smiled. “After all, it is not as if we lack for time, is it?”

No indeed, time was the one thing they had in abundance, immortal dwellers of the Blessed Realm of Valinor. Whether they reunited with Makalaurë tomorrow, or in a month, or a year... it would make little difference- if one tallied up the years the twins had been apart from Makalaurë, and the amount of time that she had been alone, then they had already waited well over two Ages of the world!

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Cano/Canafinwë: Maglor's father-name.**

**Ellyn: Plural of Ellon, male elf.**

**Amil: Quenya form of the Sindarin word Naneth, meaning 'mother'.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ingalaurë, the son of Finrod and Amarië, is another original character. His name is based on an older version of Finrod's own name, Inglor, used in several of Tolkien's older works but ultimately discarded from the Silmarillion, which is my main source of canon. At 40, Ingalaurë is the equivalent of a 15/16 year old.
> 
> Also, in this universe, Amrod and Amras both perished at the Havens of Sirion and were reborn around 50 years before the events of this story. I know there are some versions of the story where one of the youngest sons of Fëanor was burned alive when the swan-ships were burned at Losgar, but I have never liked that idea, so I'm going with the version in the Silmarillion, where they both died much later, in the Third Kinslaying.


	5. Chapter 5

Arwen wrapped her arms around herself while she stood in this far too grand sitting room, waiting to be introduced to her Uncle Finrod's son Ingalaurë.

There were too many _people_ here in Tirion, thousands more than she had expected, and so many of them seemed to know Daerada, and when they came by to see him, or when Daerada took her outside, for simple walks or to go and buy things that they needed, every street seemed to be packed with people, and everyone that they encountered always seemed to gawk at her. She longed for the Gardens of Lorien, where she had been free from prying eyes and curious stares. And now, to have to spend an afternoon with a cousin she didn't know, when she only wanted to be left alone with Daerada... it wasn't fair.

Ingalaurë was a few years older than her, Uncle Finrod had said, and she would have met him before now, but he'd been away on a hunting trip with some other cousins when she and Daerada had come here from Lorien. (He had looked worriedly towards Daerada when he had said that, but only she had noticed, or so it seemed.) Arwen privately wished that this Ingalaurë had _stayed_ on his trip for longer, as she didn't particularly want to meet him, and have to think of things to say. No doubt Uncle Finrod, Aunt Amarië and Daerada would go off somewhere to discuss 'adult matters' and she and Ingalaurë would have to amuse themselves- somehow.

She inched closer to Daerada, uneasy at the very thought, as Uncle Finrod went to fetch Ingalaurë from the garden. Amarië started speaking to Daerada, about some place in Vanyamar, her home, near Taniquetil. The mention of the mountain reminded Arwen of the last time she had 'been' there, in fea alone, alongside Ëarendil, when he had pled with Manwë and Varda for their aid- She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to blot out that memory, and all the horror that had come before, and followed. She ignored the rest of Amarië's words, feeling cold inside, and only wanting to run back to 'her' too-large bedroom (that was nothing like her old one) and lock herself away where she was safe.

Daerada must have felt her tense, because he glanced down at her, slipping an arm round her shoulders, subtly enough that Amarië noticed nothing, or pretended not to.

Maybe if she refused to speak when she met Ingalaurë, Daerada wouldn't leave her alone? This place still felt too big, too beautiful, and not at all like her new home, as everyone kept saying. Her daerada's presence was the only thing she truly liked, although even thinking that felt cruel, because Finrod and Amarië, and Arafinwë and Eärwen, had never been anything but kind to her. They just... weren't her family. She ached for her parents and brothers, missing them more every day. Her loneliness hadn't been so bad in Lorien: why was she feeling _worse_ each day when she was meant to be getting better?

Footsteps sounded, and Finrod strode back inside, leading a young blond ellon who had to be Ingalaurë. Arwen eyed him, but did not move from Daerada's side. Finrod wore his usual cheerful smile. Ingalaurë, however, looked wary, and no more excited about this meeting than Arwen herself felt.

Finrod, seeming oblivious to the less-than-enthusiastic looks on the face of his son and Arwen, introduced them both brightly, before 'leaving them to get to know one another' and leading Daerada away, Amarië following them.

Daerada did look back at her, and Arwen sent him a pleading look, willing him to stay. His eyes were sympathetic, but he did not do as she wished, instead sending one simple sentence to her. through osanwe.

' _Be brave: Ingalaurë will be a good friend for you_.'

Left alone with Ingalaurë, Arwen swallowed hard. She had refused to use osanwe since her encounter with Mo- _him_ , and never wished to do so again. Even in Lorien, surrounded by Maiar, clad in visible form or not, when the 'background noise' of osanwe was the most common form of speech, she had not used it, nor listened more than she had to: using her gifts had only led to trouble. Ada had been right to warn her not to use them. If only she had listened, she might still be at home with her parents...

She shook those thoughts off once she realized that Ingalaurë was staring at her, his head tilted to one side curiously. “What?” She sounded ill-tempered, but she did not care: even the Elves who gawked at her and Daerada in the streets of Tirion tried to be subtle about it!

“I thought you would look different.” Ingalaurë's tone was musing. “I have met Ëarendil, and Elwing, and their daughter. I thought you'd resemble them. But you don't look like any of them, really, although you have the same eyes as Elwing.”

“That's rather a silly thing to say,” Arwen replied frankly. “Do _you_ look that similar to your grandparents?” She tried not to smirk when Ingalaurë flushed and shook his head, and decided not to mention that it was hard to think of Ëarendil and Elwing as such, given that she had grown up viewing Daerada as Ada's father, and she had never seen Elwing. Her only look at Ëarendil had been while she was untethered from her body, desperate to escape the Void and stop Mo- _him_ , and she would rather not think about the circumstances of that meeting- besides, the recollection was vague now, more like a dream than something real, except during her nightmares. Only then did the rest of Ingalaurë's words sink in and it was her turn to stare at him. “Wait, did you just say they have a _daughter_?”

He blinked, then laughed. “Of course, you couldn't know. Yes, they do. Anariel. She is younger than us, only twenty-seven, and lives with her mother in the white tower north of Alqualondë. My Atar is her tutor, though. He writes lesson plans and sends them to her parents, and Elwing brings Anariel here every few months to review her learning. Ëarendil has come along once or twice.”

Arwen fought to keep her jaw from dropping. She had an aunt, her ada's sister, and the elfling was _younger_ than her? For the first time since awaking in Lorien, she felt a genuine stir of curiosity, a nudge of excitement to meet Anariel, a somewhat close member of her family who was not ancient and awe-inspiring. “What is she like?”

“Anariel?” Ingalaurë screwed his face up slightly. “She is nice enough, I suppose, but very quiet. Atar and Amme say it is because she spends much time alone, or just with her parents.” He looked around surreptitiously. “I once heard Atar and Lord Dior discussing her, saying it would be better if she were fostered in Alqualondë or here in Tirion, so she could be around other elflings, but I got caught eavesdropping shortly afterwards.” He grimaced.

Arwen felt uneasy again at the mention of another name she had only glimpsed in her family's genealogies. “Dior? Dior Eluchil, Elwing's adar?” She wanted to tremble, feeling again as if she had wandered into some grand tale from her people's history, a place littered with figures she had never imagined as real people, let alone that she might meet them. “I-I thought he was in Mandos...”

Ingalaurë seemed unconcerned. “No, he was reborn not long after my parents married. He dwells in Alqualondë with his wife Nimloth and their sons, under Olwë's rule.” He shrugged, as though this was perfectly normal, which, to him, Arwen supposed it was. “Lady Melian dwells there too, although I believe she visits Lorien if her duties take her there. I have rarely been to Alqualondë, and have only seen them a handful of times.” He started suddenly, as if something had just occurred to him. “You were in Lorien, were you not?”

“Yes.” Arwen wrapped her arms around herself, not wishing to discuss it. It must have shown on her face, for Ingalaurë waved a hand, dismissing the subject.

“It is not important, I only wondered if you might have seen Lady Melian yourself- she is your kin, after all, and now that I think of it, you actually bear a strong resemblance to Lady Melian, and Lord Dior. More than any of their other kin that I have seen.”

Arwen's nails dug into her arms as she embraced herself more tightly. Mor- _He_ had commented on her likeness to Luthien, while taunting her after snatching her hroa for his own use, trapping her in the Void, so it was no wonder that Ingalaurë could see a likeness between her, Luthien's mother Melian, and Dior, the son of Luthien. Arwen pondered for a moment: _had_ she seen Melian? There had been glimpses of a female Maia in Lorien, in her early days there, who had both looked and felt somehow familiar, who had looked upon Arwen's face with tears in her eyes, who had reacted with rage upon hearing the cause of Arwen's condition, burning with an incandescent blinding light. But that bleak time, when she had barely been able to move, was something she did not wish to even think of, so she cast her eyes around the room, eager to change the subject. “I suppose so...” Her gaze caught on the large windows that led into a huge tree-filled garden. “It is a warm day. Shall we go outside, and you can tell me more about my young aunt, if you like?” It felt odd, but pleasing, to refer to someone as an aunt, even if this Anariel was just an elfling younger than her.

“Of course.” Ingalaurë, most likely out of habit, offered her his arm. “If you'll allow me, cousin?”

To Arwen's surprise, instead of leading Arwen to a door, he simply went to the floor-to-ceiling window, unlatched it and stepped out, offering a hand to help her. Supposing that this was indeed faster, she stepped over the inch-high sill, feeling instantly more relaxed as the cool breeze, and the life-songs of the trees and plants washed over her. Drawn to one ancient oak, she made her way towards it, resting a hand upon its bark. An image entered her mind- Ingalaurë, much younger, swinging from one of this tree's branches, the tree rustling its leaves with delight. And another one, likely more recent: the tree watching as two red-haired ellyn strode into the garden, calling to Ingalaurë, while he concealed himself in the branches, stifling laughter. Turning to Ingalaurë, she smiled. “You used to climb in this tree? And you have used its branches to play a prank on some other Elves?”

His face reddened. “Yes. I would always climb this oak when I was an elfling. It seemed far larger then. And I tried to sneak up on my cousins before we went on our hunting trip- they love doing the same thing to me, so I tried to return the favor.”

Arwen grinned, her hand still on the bark of the great oak. “But they bested you by convincing the tree to set you upon the ground.” The red-haired ellyn that she could see in the oak's memory were _twins_ , she realized. Red-haired twin ellyn... It was familiar. Where had she heard of such a thing before?

Ingalaurë had backed up a step, his eyes wide. “How did you know that?”

Arwen froze. Had she not promised herself she would not use her strange abilities ever again? Granted, her peril had not been caused by communicating with a tree and revealing what it showed her, but still, she had wanted to forget how different she was, not give herself away in front of the first person near her age that she met! It just came to her so _easily_ , especially here in Valinor, with her gifts seeming stronger each day, perhaps due to this being the home of the Valar, a land where the Song of Ea was felt more strongly... “I, uh...”

He broke into a huge smile. “That was incredible!”

“It- _what_?” Her unusual gifts had been described in lots of ways when she had let her guard down in the past in front of new people, when she had not been old enough to control them, but 'incredible' was never one of the words used!

He shook his head, his eyes shining. “I have heard that the Sindar could send messages through the trees, but not that they could actually communicate with them to that extent, seeing what the trees have known!”

Oh. He thought her gifts came from her Sindar blood, not the Maiar part. She considered correcting him, but what if the truth changed his mood towards her? Inspiration on a way to learn more about her newfound aunt struck. “Does Anariel have similar abilities?”

Ingalaurë frowned in thought. “I don't _think_ so, but then again, she only ever visits to review her schooling, really, and once that is over, Lady Elwing never stays in Tirion for long. I think she prefers being alone.”

Remembering all the stares she herself had received while out in the city streets, and the quiet but ever present whispers of 'Peredhel' that seemed to follow her every step, unnoticed by anyone except her, Arwen found she could not blame Elwing if that were true. “But surely you and Anariel keep one another company when she is here and the adults are busy, as you and I are doing now?”

Ingalaurë sighed. “Yes, we do, but all she ever wishes to do is read, or draw, or sew, for hours. Dull things. And she is quite childish, not liking to go far from her amme, or to do something without her permission. She is never interested in having any fun. I don't think she knows how to.”

Arwen pulled a face at that. _Sewing_? The one thing she had always, always found dull, no matter how useful it might be. And how could an elfling of just twenty-seven years not know how to play games and have fun?

He shrugged. “You will see what Anariel is like for yourself soon anyway. Lady Elwing is meant to be bringing her for a visit in a few weeks, just after Anatar's Begetting Day feast.”

His words both made Arwen uneasy- a Begetting Day feast for Arafinwë, as much as she liked him, would mean hundreds of people attending, much dressing up and primping, and being on display and having to talk to people for hours- and gave her a feeling of anticipation- Anariel sounded as if she needed a friend, and meeting her gave Arwen something to look forward to. Maybe if she thought of it as a reward of sorts: survive the feast, don't make a fuss about all the attention, and she would get to make a new friend not long afterwards.

Well, she reflected, looking at Ingalaurë once more, _another_ new friend. Ingalaurë seemed to like her, after all. An idea struck her, and she smiled, feeling shy again. “How long do you think Daer- er, Maglor,” It felt so strange using Daerada's name, but he had told her that it would make things easier for them here if she did not address him by a name that was not his by right. She did not like it, but wanted to do as he asked- he was all she really had here in Valinor, and displeasing him was unwise. “Will be talking for?”

“No idea. Atar wanted to tell Maglor something about my other cousins, but you know adults, they will go on and on for hours.”

Reminded of long conversations between Ada and Erestor, back at home, Arwen could only nod. “So... as we have time, would you like to give this oak tree its wish and climb it again?”

Ingalaurë's face lit up, although he cast a doubtful glance at her blue gown. “You can climb a tree in that?”

In response, she kicked her shoes off, crouched, and leaped for the lowest branch, which creaked as it obligingly dipped to be within her reach. Swinging herself up onto it, she laughed as her 'skirt' split on each side, falling open and revealing itself to be a loose overlay, attached at the waist, wrapped over trousers made of the same cloth. She had several garments like it, designed to allow ellith to play outdoors and run and climb without inadvertently revealing their underclothes. “This gown was made for playing in,” she explained to Ingalaurë, who just looked puzzled. She shifted the wrap again to show him. “It's trousers, but with a skirt sewn over the top. My nana- amme- said it was all well and good to keep young ellith looking decent, but we deserved to be able to have fun too.” Arwen's throat tightened at the memory of Nana, and she found herself blinking back tears, looking away to hide it as Ingalaurë followed her into the tree. Luckily, he didn't seem to notice her upset- she didn't want him to think her a baby, when he, at present, liked her.

“Come on!” Ingalaurë leaped to another branch, and another, using ones above his head for balance. “We can explore the whole garden this way! I'll show you everything.”

Unable to hold back a smirk at the sight of him needing to hold on as he moved from branch to branch, Arwen couldn't help but show off a little, as she used to when teasing her own brothers. She sprung from her current perch to one above Ingalaurë's head, landing upon the points of her toes with ease, and laughing down at him. “Race you to that elm tree over there?” She pointed at the gnarled tree, quite some distance away. “And if you return to the ground to get there first, you lose!”

Ingalaurë grinned at the challenge. “You're on! Ready... set... go!”

Both giggling, the eflings began their squirrel-like race through the tree-tops, both determined to win. And for the first time since coming back to herself in Lorien, Arwen thought she felt... happy. Tirion wasn't her home yet, not even close. But perhaps someday, it could be.

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Amil/Amme: Quenya form of the Sindarin word 'Naneth/Nana', meaning Mother/Mama.**

**Atar: Quenya form of the Sindarin word 'Adar/Ada', meaning Father/Papa.**

**Anatar: Quenya form of the Sindarin word 'Daeradar/Daerada, meaning Grandfather/Grandpa.**

**Ellyn: Plural of Ellon, meaning male elf.**

**Ellith: Plural of Elleth, meaning female elf.**

**Osanwe: Mind-speak, telepathy.**

**Sindar: The name of the clan of Elves that never went to Valinor during the First Age, instead remaining in Middle-Earth with their own kingdoms and rulers.**

**Peredhil/Peredhel: Half-Elven/Half-elf.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to Inwiste, who helped me get this chapter started and contributed part of the first paragraph. Thanks for being such an awesome person!


	6. Chapter 6

Arwen felt slightly more excited the next time she was brought to spend time with Ingalaurë- now that she knew him, it would not be so bad, though this time, it seemed, she would be left with him for several hours, while Daerada- Maglor, she corrected herself, went into Tirion to meet his naneth and his two youngest brothers. He had broken it to her gently, a few days ago, explaining that he wanted to have this reunion in private, before he ran into them at Arafinwë's Begetting Day feast, which was in a few days. He'd assured her that she would get to meet them soon, and hugged her tightly, before handing her over to Uncle Finrod, promising to be back in a few hours, and then he was gone (with many worried glances back at her, which made her try to smile and look pleased.) The thought of Maglor getting to see his mother, and two of his brothers, twins at that, was a _good_ thing, he'd spent too long without them, but a small part of Arwen was protesting. _She_ was Daerada's family, her, and Ada, and Elladan and Elrohir... why did he need more family, when he was all she had in Valinor? What if his mother and brothers took him away from her?

Finrod gave her an understanding look. “He will be back before you know it. And when you meet Nerdanel, and Amrod and Amras, you'll grow to love them as much as you do Maglor.”

Arwen eyed him suspiciously- how did he know what she had been thinking?

“I would be worried if the only person I really knew in a new place went off to see his other family and left me behind,” Finrod smiled. “But I promise you, there's nothing to worry about. Maglor is too devoted to you to ever do anything to hurt you. He just needs privacy for this first meeting with his mother and brothers. Besides, I am sure you'd rather spend the day causing mischief with Ingalaurë than being bored while the adults spend hours talking, would you not?”

Arwen's lips twitched into a smile and, distracted from her worry and budding jealousy, gave him an innocent look. “Does that mean that Ingalaurë and I have your permission to get into trouble?” She giggled at the look on Finrod's face.

“I walked straight into that, didn't I.” He sighed. “I suppose so. Just do not do _t_ _oo_ much damage. And tell no-one that I enabled you.” He winked at her conspiratorially. “Ingalaurë is out in the gardens. Again.” He gestured for her to go when she hesitated. “Go on, run along. Amarië or I will come and find you when Makalau- Maglor returns.”

Arwen thanked him, quietly, before making her way to the rear doors of the palace that led to the gardens. Finrod had not said where Ingalaurë was exactly, and the gardens were vast, so it could take some time for her to find him. Glancing about herself, seeing only trees, flowers and sun-dappled ground, she sighed. She did not want to shout Ingalaurë's name- what if she accidentally disturbed one of the gardeners and made them angry? Her eyes fell on the ancient oak that they had climbed the last time they had been out here, and an idea struck her. Approaching the tree, she gently laid her hand upon its bark, and closed her eyes, 'sending' an image of Ingalaurë with a sense of expectation.

The image that was returned to her mind was of a grove of willows near a pond, not all that far from where she was. Ingalaurë was sat beneath one of them, his face buried in a book. A smirk crossed Arwen's face, and she thanked the oak without words before clambering up into its branches once more. It rustled its leaves happily as she climbed, then, as she had a week ago, in her race through the garden with Ingalaurë, she made her way from tree to tree, only moving far more quietly now than she had then.

It was not long before she stood in a tall young willow tree, some distance above Ingalaurë's head. He read on, oblivious to her presence, and she nearly began giggling again, but stopped herself- her joke would not work if she gave her position away.

“Ingalaurë...” She whispered, so softly that her voice could have been a trick of the wind.

He glanced up from his book, frowning, and looked around. Seeing no-one, he shook his head and returned to his reading.

Arwen shifted so she was sitting on the branch, her feet dangling. “Ingalaurë...” The whisper this time was just slightly louder.

He put the book down, and looked about himself more carefully this time, his brow furrowed. “Is someone there?”

Arwen had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. It didn't even seem to occur to him to look up! She reached for one of the ribbons that held her braids in place, intending to untie it and let it fall 'out of nowhere' onto the page Ingalaurë was reading, to _really_ confuse him, but her dangling feet, which she had been swinging idly, ruined her jest. One of her light shoes slipped off and fell to the ground with a distinct thud, right beside Ingalaurë.

Her fun was not entirely ruined, however, for Ingalaurë stared in confusion at the soft leather shoe for several minutes, his mouth gaping open, before Arwen's laughter overcame her and Ingalaurë finally glanced up and saw her.

He leapt to his feet, clutching a hand to his heart in shock, snapping a word in Quenya that Arwen did not understand, then shaking his head. “Arwen! How long have you been there?” His shock faded and he began to grin. “Was it you who was saying my name?”

She pulled her best innocent expression onto her face. “Me? No. Why, did you hear something?”

It didn't appear to have worked, since Ingalaurë's response was to throw an empty water-skin at her. Catching it, she nearly lost her balance, almost toppling backwards off her perch. Ingalaurë called a warning, his eyes wide, but the tree lowered another branch, supporting Arwen's back and helping her regain her seat. Used to such aid from the trees in Rivendell and Lothlorien back at home, she merely rested a hand on the tree, thanking it silently, before leaping nimbly to the ground.

Ingalaurë was staring in shock. “Is that another ability of the Sindar?” He managed eventually. “To have the trees move so obviously to protect them?”

Arwen twisted her hands. She still hadn't told him that her odd abilities came not from her Sindar blood, but from her Maiar ancestry. But how would he react if she did? If it frightened him, made him dislike her, and cost her the only friend she currently had... “I am not sure,” she hedged. “I have always been able to do such things. It seems normal to me.” There. Not a lie, but neither had she revealed the whole truth.

“It would be amazing if you could teach me to speak with the trees and befriend them as you do.” His expression was hopeful, and Arwen sighed.

“I don't know if it can be taught, I'm afraid.”

Ingalaurë's face fell, then brightened. “Oh well. At least I can live vicariously, sharing in the fun with you.” He retrieved her shoe, offering it back to her with an exaggerated bow and a grin. “Your garment, my Lady.”

Arwen attempted to look prim as she offered her foot for him to replace her shoe, but both were overcome by laughter at the foolishness of their behavior as he did so. Once they had themselves back under control, Ingalaurë shook his head. “Well, now that we can cease pretending to be a proper young Prince and Lady, what shall we do with ourselves?”

Arwen bit her lip, considering. Had she been with Elladan and Elrohir, she would have suggested sparring or wrestling practice, but she had no idea if Ingalaurë enjoyed such things, or if he even learned them- what need was there for warriors here in Valinor? What else could they do... “Well, Uncle Finrod did suggest mischief...” Her eyes gleamed. “Could we sneak into the kitchens and steal some food? I am rather hungry.”

Ingalaurë looked hesitant. “We can try, but I have rarely been successful in such things. I swear the cooks have eyes in the backs of their heads.”

Arwen grinned, taking his hand. “It will be fine. I am good at slipping past people. Come on!” She pulled him along with her until they were close to the kitchens, whereupon they both ducked into the hedges nearby. “I saw a pantry door when you showed me around the gardens. Does it open from the outside?”

Ingalaurë nodded. “Yes, but if we enter through there, we will be seen for sure.”

“ _We_ will not enter through there. You are going to go inside, to the main kitchen door, knock and ask the head cook for a small picnic for the two of us. While you are doing that, most eyes will be on you, and I will slip in and take some cakes or sweets for us. There are sure to be plenty to spare, since the preparations for Finarf- Arafinwë's Begetting Day feast are underway.”

Ingalaurë seemed unconvinced. “But how will you know when to move, if you are inside the pantry when I enter the kitchens?”

Arwen took a deep breath. “I will show you, just... do not panic. Promise?” Nerves churned in her stomach- there was no way Ingalaurë would believe that _this_ gift was due to her Sindar blood, but, if she was honest, she hated lying to her new friend. Bad enough that she had to lie, constantly, about what had caused her illness and her stay in the Gardens of Lorien.

At Ingalaurë's nod, Arwen took a deep breath, reminding herself that she had used osanwe for many years before encountering M- _him_ , and nothing bad had happened. The ability was nothing to be afraid of, it was just a part of who she was, as Daerada had said when she had voiced her fears to him. ' _This is how you can let me know when it is safe to move._ '

Ingalaurë jumped at hearing her voice in his mind, and his face paled. She held her hands up. “Don't panic!”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then swallowed hard. “I'm not panicking. W-what makes you think I'm scared?”

 _'I'm sorry.'_ Arwen hung her head. Perhaps she shouldn't have done this after all.

Ingalaurë shook his head. “How... I thought it took centuries to master the art of osanwe. How have you learned it, when you are younger than me?”

Arwen shrugged. “I've always been able to do it, almost since I learned to speak aloud. My family...” She trailed off, unsure of how much to say.

Ingalaurë's face lit up as if he had just realized something. He now looked at her with something close to awe. “I feel such a fool. You are Peredhel, descended from the Maia Melian.” He shook his head. “It's no wonder you're special. I can't believe I didn't realize...”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Does it scare you?”

“No.” He eyed her shrewdly, looking a great deal like Finrod suddenly. “Does it frighten you?”

“Sometimes.” Arwen tried to sound nonchalant. “There are things I can do- that I have done- that I don't understand, or like.” She shivered, pushing back memories of endless cold darkness, and the cruel, pitiless voice of Mor- _him_. “It's hard, being... different.”

“I suppose a lot of people would not understand.” Ingalaurë met her gaze. “I won't tell anyone unless you give me permission to do so.”

Arwen read sincerity in his gaze and tried to smile. He meant it, she could sense that much, but whether he kept his word... only time would tell. She sighed, then waved a hand as if dismissing the entire subject. ' _So, are we going to take some treats from the kitchens or not?'_

This time, Ingalaurë did not seem as startled, and nodded, a small smile appearing as he furrowed his brow with concentration. ' _Of course. Wait, can you hear this? What if she can't, is there some special way I have to concentrate to make myself heard?'_

Arwen smothered a laugh. _'It's fine, I can hear you._ '

Ingalaurë chuckled. “So I'll go to the kitchen door, you slip into the pantry and I'll tell you when to move.”

She nodded. “Mm-hmm, and if we get caught, you can tell your parents it was all my idea.”

He shook his head. “No. If we are caught, we will both take any blame and punishment for it.” He gestured towards the pantry door. “Go on, it's probably best if you're already inside when I go to the kitchen door.”

Nodding, Arwen stepped towards the pantry door, finding it unlocked, and pulling it open as quietly as she could before slipping inside. She watched Ingalaurë run off before pulling the door closed.

She abruptly tensed, her breathing picking up speed. With the outer door closed, the pantry was almost pitch black. Her heart pounded. She had hated the dark ever since... everything that had happened before she left Middle-Earth. She could not even sleep at night without some manner of light burning, even if it were just a candle, to remind her of where she was. Why hadn't she thought of this before coming up with this idea? Sweat beaded on her hands and the back of her neck, and the sound of her own rapid breathing echoed, making her think that something else was in the darkness with her. Clenching her fists, she struggled to calm down. _It is fine, I am only hiding in a pantry. Nothing here is going to hurt me._ Moving blindly, she groped around, _needing_ to feel something solid and tangible beneath her hands, a reminder that she was in the physical world, not in the Void once more.

Something heavy and soft molded beneath her palms, and her heart stuttered before her mind caught up with it. _A bag of flour. It is just a bag of flour_. Keeping her hands on it to keep herself grounded in reality, she tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, the way Daerada had taught her to do after a nightmare. It seemed to work, for her heart rate slowed, and as she concentrated, she could hear voices from the kitchen.

' _Should have more staff to help, preparing for His Majesty's feast as well as dealing with day-to-day meals...'_

' _Adding two more to the guest list on such short notice. As if we didn't have enough to do. I have no idea why the Lady and her daughter could not have traveled here from Alqualondë last week, with her parents and brothers, instead of journeying here separately and arriving late.'_

 _'Cleaning out the ovens yet again. I know I am just an apprentice, but I'd hoped for more exciting work than this in the Noldoran's palace kitchens._ '

_'I hope that my betrothed does not get too fed up if I cannot get away in time to meet with him this evening.'_

_'I still don't understand why the king lets Makalaurë Feanorian and that Peredhel child stay here as if they were honored guests, when they're little more than beggars at the door. The child especially. Makalaurë at least is a Prince of the Noldor. That child isn't nobility, her very name shows she is not even a true Elda! Mixed Edain blood indeed. She does not belong here in Tirion.'_

No. Not voices. She was not hearing words. Against her will, she was picking up thoughts. Arwen closed her eyes, pushing the 'sounds' away. Her eyes stung with tears as the last thing she had 'heard' echoed in her mind. _Not nobility? Not even a true Elda?_ Was this truly how people thought of her family? Fine, that thought likely only came from a servant, but still, it stung. Of course her family were elves! Adar had chosen the life of the Firstborn, so he was an Elda. And so were they all.

Weren't they?

 _'Arwen?_ ' Ingalaurë's voice startled her. _'I am about to go into the kitchen. Are you ready?'_

She wiped tears from her face. _'_ _Yes_.' She was glad that her own emotions didn't come through when she spoke mind-to-mind. Inching forward, she pressed her ear to the interior pantry door, listening hard, with her ears instead of her mind this time. She could make out Ingalaurë's muffled voice, and, slowly, she cracked the door open.

As she had expected, Ingalaurë's presence, as he began a long and wordy request for a picnic lunch, was drawing the attention of most of the elves working in the kitchen. Arwen felt a stab of bitter curiosity, wondering who had had such unpleasant thoughts about her and her family, but decided it did not matter, really- it was not possible for everyone to like her, after all. She took a half step forward, still concealed (mostly) by the pantry door, and spied a platter of berry tarts that had been left to cool not far from where she hid. Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated, using the last 'trick' she knew, but almost never used. _I am invisible. I cannot be seen_. She felt the odd sensation that meant it had worked- not that she had any idea _how_ it worked, she only knew that anyone who looked her way now would be distracted and not register her presence. It had helped her get away with a lot of pranks back at home when she was younger, before Daerada and Ada had caught on and taught Nana, Glorfindel and Erestor how to see through her 'trick.' (She'd still gotten away with plenty of pranks on her brothers, though.)

Still concentrating, she edged forward, picked up the platter of tarts, and quickly made her way back to the pantry, pulling the door closed and gritting her teeth as she quickly made her way through the dark room once again, struggling to balance the platter, and heaving a sigh of relief once she was in the sunlit garden once again. _'Ingalaurë? I'm outside. You can come out now.'_

She picked up a sense of astonishment from him, but no words came in reply. A few minutes later, he joined her, a small basket on his arm. “The cook would only give me a loaf of bread, soft cheese and hawthorn juice.” His eyes fell on the berry tarts she had acquired, and he gaped. “But when did you take those? I didn't see you slip into the kitchen at all!”

Arwen smirked. “Wouldn't you like to know. Anyway, shall we go somewhere further from here for our picnic?”

“Yes, of course.” Ingalaurë led the way, carrying the basket, while Arwen carried the platter. “But I still have no idea when you took those.”

“Not telling.” In a somewhat childish move, she stuck her tongue out at him, but her face fell soon afterwards. “Ingalaurë... have you ever heard anyone say anything... bad, about my family?”

“What, do you mean the Peredhil family, specifically?” He shook his head. “No, not really. Why, has someone said something to upset you?”

“No.” Her reply was mumbled, but it was, technically, true: no-one had _said_ anything to upset her. And someone's private thoughts were their own. She had no right to repeat them to anyone else.

“Arwen-”

“It's nothing. Really.” She began walking more quickly, forcing Ingalaurë to catch up with her and hopefully ending that conversation.

They reached a small walled area of the gardens, not far from the palace stables. The ground seemed carpeted in flowers, and both elflings set their picnic supplies down at the same time, happy enough to eat here.

Arwen helped herself to some bread to begin with, as she was indeed fairly hungry, but Ingalaurë seemed more interested in examining the flowers that surrounded them.

“Odd, I've never seen this species of flower before.”

Arwen glanced over to see him carefully looking over a niphredil blossom, one of many in the garden, although they looked fairly young. “Really? They grew all over the place at hom- in Rivendell, and in Lothlorien, my grandparents' home. I've seen them in any place I've lived.”

Ingalaurë chuckled. “Perhaps they followed you here to Tirion!”

Arwen laughed. “Don't be silly.” As if flowers could do that! “More likely they were planted recently and have only just blossomed. That is why you never saw them before.”

“Perhaps. I-”

A whinny sounded from the nearby stables and both of them glanced over, startled by the sudden noise. Grooms and stablehands went to calm the spooked stallion, but Ingalaurë's eyes widened at the sight of one of the mares, a dappled grey in one of the stalls. “That is Lady Elwing's horse. But she is not due to bring Anariel here for another two weeks...” He looked confused, but Arwen got to her feet, curious.

“Perhaps she wishes for herself and Anariel to attend Arafinwë's Begetting Day feast?”

Ingalaurë shook his head. “Elwing _never_ attends court functions- and I know she has been invited many times. This is... strange.”

Hairs stood up on the back of Arwen's neck. Something was telling her that Elwing's unexpected arrival was not a good thing. But still, this was her Ada's birth mother, and presumably Anariel, her aunt, was here too. “At least I will get to meet them.” She wished Ëarendil was here too, since she had met him- after a fashion- but knew that was not likely.

“Mm. Perhaps that is why Elwing came to Tirion early. She has heard of her granddaughter's arrival and wishes to get to know you.”

Arwen smiled in agreement with Ingalaurë, but her feeling of unease did not abate. If that were so, why had Daerada, Uncle Finrod, Aunt Amarië, Arafinwë or Eärwen not let her know this might happen? And if Elwing had not sent word ahead of her arrival, then that begged the question: why had she not?

Arwen did wish to meet more of her ada's family, but something about this situation... it just did not feel right, as if Elwing was here for some reason other than wishing to meet her granddaughter. She bit her lip, sitting back down and rejoining Ingalaurë in eating their lunch, hoping with all her heart that Daerada returned before she had to be introduced to Elwing. She would just feel safer with him there.

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Osanwe: Mind-speak, telepathy.**

**Naneth: Sindarin word for mother.**

**Daeradar/Daerada: Sindarin word for grandfather/grandpa.**

**Makalaurë: Quenya form of the Sindarin name Maglor.**

**Niphredil: A white flower that, in Middle-Earth, first bloomed in Doriath, when Luthien was born. It also grew in Rivendell and Lothlorien in the Third Age.**

**Noldoran; King of the Noldor.**


	7. Chapter 7

Eluréd grinned at the smug look on his twin brother's face as they crept from the guest wing of Arafinwë's palace (where they, and their parents, Dior and Nimloth, were staying until after Arafinwë's Begetting Day celebration) and made their way outdoors. Their parents were still unpacking, and believed them to be doing the same, but the twins' curiosity had gotten the better of them.

 _It is Arafinwë's own fault, really,_ Eluréd reflected, as they raced lightly through the gardens. _He cannot inform us that our older sister's granddaughter now dwells here and then not expect us to go and introduce ourselves._

He stopped short when he realized that Elurín had fallen behind. His brother was gazing over at the royal stables, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Eluréd darted to his side.

“Did Elwing not write to Naneth and Adar to say she would wait until after this feast before bringing Anariel here for another review of her schooling, after they invited her to travel with us from Alqualondë?”

“Yes.” Eluréd shrugged. “Elwing has not liked large gatherings since...” Since Doriath, he thought but did not say. Memories of that time, that life, eons ago, were faint as willow-wisps.

“So why is her horse being stabled even now?” Elurín pointed, and Eluréd, following the gesture, gawked.

“I have no idea...” Why _would_ their sister have made her way here now, so unexpectedly? Adar and Naneth had offered Elwing the chance to travel here with Anariel, in comfort, along with them, but she had refused, stating that, as usual, she would not be attending. But for her to be here now, having ridden... she would had to have departed her tower mere days after they had set forth from Alqualondë. But _why_? Eluréd shook his head, sighing in exasperation when the movement made strands of his long silver hair fly into his face, brushing the tendrils aside impatiently. He did not understand his elder sister's decisions, at all. “Perhaps Elwing just changed her mind?”

Children's laughter echoed from a walled garden some distance ahead, and both twins started, only now recalling why they had come out here- to meet their great-niece. Elurín tapped on Eluréd's shoulder, gesturing towards a large yew tree. Its overhanging branches were thick, and would offer concealment while allowing them to peer into the garden below. Both ellyn grinned, as they both leaped silently from the ground to the boughs of the great yew, and crept closer to the enclosed garden.

Peering down, they saw Ingalaurë son of Finrod deep in conversation with a raven-tressed elleth, whose hair gleamed almost blue in the sunlight. To the surprise of both Eluréd and Elurín, one of the flowerbeds now held Niphredil blossoms, a flower they had not seen since their very earliest memories, vague recollections of their infancy in Tol Galen... Neither twin commented, though both marked the bloom's presence, as they focused on the children, eager to get a look at their great-niece.

The elflings' heads were bowed, and the elleth was writing something, using a stick to etch into the earth. Listening closely to the conversation, the Diorionnath realized that they were hearing a lesson in Sindarin, and hid their grins at some of the gaffes in pronunciation that Ingalaurë was making. They stifled their laughter so as to remain concealed and not embarrass young Ingalaurë overmuch.

The elleth, who could only be their great-niece, paused suddenly, her posture straightening.

Ingalaurë peered at her. “Arwen? What's wrong?”

She did not respond to him, instead turning her face upwards, piercing silver-blue eyes gazing directly at Eluréd and Elurín. “We have an audience.” She continued staring, and although neither twin had spoken, she nodded. “Elwing's brothers.” Her words were a statement, not a question, as if she just knew who they were, even though they had never met. Despite that, puzzlement flickered in her eyes, as if she herself was not sure how she had known their names.

Ingalaurë followed her gaze, squinting up into the yew tree. “What-” He frowned. “Lord Eluréd? Lord Elurín? What are you doing up there?”

Both twins sat frozen like deer caught in the sights of a hunter. Not only were they astounded that they had been seen, and immediately identified by an utter stranger, but now that they could see her face clearly, they could not believe their eyes. She was the very image, in the form of an elleth and a child, of their father Dior.

Ingalaurë seemed oblivious to their shock, raising a brow, much as his father sometimes did. “Will you not come down and introduce yourselves properly, instead of remaining in a tree?” His lips were twitching with suppressed laughter. “Although,” he turned to Arwen. “Introductions are not actually needed. How did you know who they were?”

Arwen shrugged slightly, now avoiding eye contact. “I just... know things sometimes. I don't know how it works.”

Ingalaurë's eyes widened. “Is it... more of what we were discussing earlier? Your heritage?”

“Yes.” Her voice was flat, and it was clear she was not comfortable with this subject. Eluréd and Elurín exchanged looks, and as one, dropped to the ground, bowing slightly in greeting.

“Mae Govannen, niece.” Elurín spoke in Sindarin, assuming that it would be the language Arwen knew best, and also aware that it would allow them some privacy to speak without Ingalaurë understanding every word. “We would introduce ourselves, but it seems the gifts that our line carry have taken care of that for us.”

Arwen slowly looked up, the tiniest smile on her face, and nodded. “I am Arwen Elrondiel. It is good to meet you both... Uncles.” She hesitated over the word, and Elurín understood why: he had heard of her father Elrond's upbringing: Arwen had never had anyone to name Uncle before: little wonder she found it strange now!

Eluréd was still gazing at her in wonder. “Incredible... you could be our father's twin, with your looks. Or, I suppose, it's more that you resemble our grandmother, Lúthien, as our adar does.”

For some reason, that made Arwen's face darken and she dropped her eyes to the ground once again. “So I've been told.” Her words were barely audible.

“Perhaps we should call you little bird, as you resemble a young nightingale. Grandmother Lúthien was called Tinúviel, so it would suit you.” Elurín, who had evidently missed her sudden change of mood, was clearly jesting, judging by his tone and his smile, but Arwen paled at his words and edged away from him, hunching in on herself as if she wished to make herself as small as possible.

Ingalaurë was frowning slightly at the fluent Sindarin now being spoken, clearly put out at not understanding the conversation, but he did not comment. He did, however, step closer to Arwen when she appeared upset, turning a suspicious gaze to Eluréd and Elurín. “What did you-”

“It's fine, Ingalaurë.” Arwen switched back to speaking Quenya with apparent ease, and both twins raised their brows- she was rather fluent in the language for one so young who had been raised in Middle-Earth! “But I think I would like to go inside now, if that's alright?”

Ingalaurë looked from her to Eluréd and Elurín, both of whom now looked troubled. “If you would not rather stay and get to know your uncles...”

She shook her head, keeping her eyes upon the ground. “Not right now. Please.”

“But-”

Arwen turned and fled indoors without him. Torn, Ingalaurë looked to Eluréd and Elurín, then at where Arwen had run inside. “I...”

Nightingale song twisted and wove through the air, catching the attention of both Eluréd and Elurín, though Ingalaurë appeared to notice nothing unusual in the birdsong. Already hearing the 'call' that he and his brother were to follow, and feeling the urge to answer at once, Elurín shook his head at Ingalaurë. “All is well. Go after her. Let her know we apologize for any distress we may have caused.” Although quite how or why their words had upset their little niece, he had no idea.

“Of course.” Ingalaurë nodded and was gone.

Elurín turned and raced after Eluréd, who had already darted off, following the song of the nightingales that they both recognized as their great-grandmother Melian calling to them. Such visits were not common outside of Alqualondë. For her to request to see them now, in this way, usually meant that they had done something wrong, or made a big mistake. Which, given Arwen's all but fleeing from them, they clearly had. Perhaps Melian would be willing to provide some answers regarding Arwen's abrupt change of mood, and let them know how they could avoid upsetting her once again. Though he had not the faintest idea what their playful words could have done to vex her so.

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Diorionnath: Sons of Dior.**

**Elrondiel: Daughter of Elrond.**

**Mae Govannen: Sindarin greeting, meaning 'Well Met'.**

**Tinúviel: Sindarin word for nightingale, name given to Lúthien by Beren.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

Maglor inhaled deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart and willing his hands not to tremble, as he hesitated outside the small ivy-covered redbrick building where he had agreed to meet his amil and youngest brothers. If Finrod's words were to be believed, they were eager and excited to see him, but he found it hard to shake his Age-long belief that that would not be so, that they would hate him- Amil because he had abandoned her, following Atar into his madness, and Amrod and Amras for not protecting them well enough, leading them to their deaths at the Havens of Sirion.

Reborn. So soon, by elven standards. Maglor had scarcely dared to believe it when Finrod had told him. His heart had leaped in joy, even as foreboding filled him- what would they think of him, the sole member of their family who had betrayed what Atar had wanted, turned his back on the Oath they had all sworn?

Granted, Atar had been somewhat mad, and renouncing the Oath, casting away the Silmaril, had meant that Maglor had lived, but what if his youngest brothers were angry at him for that? Why should he alone have survived when none of the others had? He leaned back against the wall of the workshop, breathing heavily. Perhaps this was a mistake. His brothers' feelings aside, he shuddered to think what Amil would have to say to him, knowing that he had been alive and technically able to return home for over an Age, and had chosen not to do so. What did she know of his other family in Middle-Earth, his heart's son, his law-daughter and his grandchildren? Would she accept them as part of her own family, or look down upon Maglor for loving the family he had, so long ago, kidnapped from a battlefield to gain?

And what would Amrod and Amras think? They knew more of the Peredhil family than Amil would. For them to learn that he had adopted a set of twins, while they only recently lay dead... what would they think of it? Would any of them understand or accept that Maglor _was_ now a part of Elrond's family, despite how he had first come into Elrond's life? And if not, what did that bode for their future dealings with Arwen? He had to put her first, he knew that, however much he might wish to reconnect with his mother and youngest brothers. If they could not accept her, then, painful as it was, he could not have dealings with them either.

He shook his head at his ever-worsening thoughts, calling to mind what Finrod had said to him, just before he left the palace earlier that day: “Knowing you, you will stand outside picturing the absolute worst outcomes of this reunion. _Don't._ Actually go inside and face what will happen. I guarantee, it will not be as bad as you fear.”

Swallowing hard, and with an effort putting aside sudden thoughts of Arwen and how she was managing, left in the palace without him being within shouting distance for the first time- she would be fine, it was only for a few hours- he squared his shoulders. _I have faced hundreds of battles against the armies of Morgoth, and of Sauron. I am not afraid to go and greet my own family._ His palms grew damp with sweat as he pushed open the wooden door.

The heavy oak door, pitted and scarred from many years of wear and tear, was so familiar under Maglor's hand that tears burned his eyes. This small building, he knew, had once been Míriel Serindë's workroom, where she had done her sewing and weaving, and stored her wares, before her marriage to Finwë. Eventually, it had been given to Fëanor, Míriel's only son, who, unwilling to use it himself, had given it over to his eldest son. In time, it had become _the_ place that Maedhros and his brothers came to escape the court, their 'secret', though, in hindsight, their parents had to have known where they were when they vanished.

Inside, the place looked much as it had when he had left: light and shadow fell in intricate patterns throughout the interior, shaped by the ivy tendrils that had always overhung the huge windows, even back when Maglor had been an elfling, the greenery was never cut: soft cushions and rugs were strewn upon the ground- they had never bothered with chairs, this was a place to lounge and be informal, no need to cart furniture around- and small tapestries lined the walls- Míriel's older works, from before Atar's birth, the only things in here the sons of Fëanor had diligently worked to preserve and care for. They still looked good as new, despite their many millennia of age. And in the center of the room...

Maglor's throat tightened and he froze, feeling as if he literally could not move. Amrod and Amras, looking as whole and hale as they had, that last day in Himring, before Sirion, before they had died, but with the fear and exhaustion stripped from their eyes, stood facing him, anticipation seeping from them, (why did it hurt to even look at his baby brothers?) and between them...

"Amil.” The word came out strangled, choked, and Maglor staggered forward, his eyes burning. Nerdanel, although her face was more lined with care than he recalled, looked almost exactly as she had the last time he had seen her, so long ago, during the Darkening of Valinor. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to speak again. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Makalaurë- Maglor. My boy.” Nerdanel's voice cracked.

He was wrapped in her arms before he got another word out, and that undid him. His shoulders shook with sobs as he clung to his mother- she was so much shorter than him, but her embrace was strong enough that she did not feel fragile, she never had. He could feel her tears damping his shoulder as well, but did not care: he was home, back with his amil, and miracle of miracles, she did not loathe him for all that he had done.

Eventually, she stepped back from him, wiping tears from her face, then his, before putting her hands upon his shoulders and eyeing him critically, as if she wished to make sure he was well. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she smiled, and took a further step back, letting Amrod and Amras step closer, although she did not take her eyes from him.

Facing his youngest brothers once again, Maglor's mouth went dry. What did you say to your reborn youngest siblings at the first meeting after you had failed so miserably at protecting them that they had died?

“Welcome home.” Amrod was the first to speak, a tentative smile on his face.

“Thank you.” Why could he think of no more to say?

Amras' expression was wryly ironic. “What took you so long?”

“I, uh...”

“Also, we hear that you managed to gain a son and granddchildren without the bother of finding an elleth to marry.” Amrod raised a brow.

Maglor was not sure how to reply- was that a question or a criticism of some kind?

“One might take that as proof that Maglor is the wisest of all of us.” Amras quipped.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes at that, then, without warning, both twins launched themselves at Maglor, hugging him so tightly that his ribs groaned in protest and he found it hard to breathe.

“We missed you so much, Cano.” One of the twins whispered in his ear.

He clutched them both tightly, his heart aching, feeling as if he would never let them go again. His baby brothers, the two that, no matter what, had always felt like his responsibility, were here. Strong, and alive, and _safe_. 'Sorry' did not seem like a strong enough word for his failure to keep them safe, but what else could he say? “I am so s-”

Moving as one, both twins clamped a hand across his mouth, effectively silencing him.

“No. You aren't allowed to do that.” Amrod stated firmly.

“We all made our own choices back then, mad as they might have been. We are all responsible for what happened to us. You don't get to hoist all the blame onto yourself.”

“Besides, this is a whole new Age, and you are home. It is a new start, and that will not happen if all you do is brood upon the past.” Nerdanel was using her 'do not argue with me' tone, one that was achingly familiar from Maglor's childhood, and his heart swelled. Could it truly be so simple, so easy? Just to start a new life, letting go of the grief and horror of the past?

He knew it could not, not completely, not for him, and not for Arwen, but perhaps, for now, he could set it aside, and just focus on being with his family? He took a deep breath, focusing on the twins.

“So... what have you two been doing with yourselves? Besides driving Amil to distraction with your antics, no doubt.” That, at least, he was reasonably certain of. Even in Beleriand, amid the constant threats of battle, Amrod and Amras had somehow maintained a generally cheerful mien, keeping things as lighthearted as possible, and he saw no reason for that to have changed now that they dwelled in a land of safety.

The twins launched into a long convoluted tale about their recent hunting trip with young Ingalaurë, and Maglor silently pled that they had not taught the elfling too many ideas for mischief, for that would surely have a ripple effect and reach Arwen. That thought made him worry for her all over again, and he hoped she was doing well without him there. _If she were not, Finrod would have sent someone to fetch you._ He told himself firmly, re-focusing on his mother and brothers. Arwen was fine, and for now, he was going to make the most of this happier than expected reunion, although he would not be able to stay as long as the twins no doubt wished. He would need to be back at the palace by evening at the latest, for he had promised Arwen as much, and he would not let her down.

Endeavoring once again to cease fretting over his granddaughter, he smiled at the understanding look in his amil's eyes- she had always understood what he was thinking- and, when Amrod and Amras ceased talking about their exploits, and asked him about Elrond, his family, and the life Maglor had led in Rivendell, he was able to tell them of the realm his son had built with pride and only a faint pang of yearning for that wonderful place, and the many happy years he had spent there.

* * *

The Sun was just dipping into the West when Maglor made his way back to the palace, this time met with bows and murmured greetings of 'Your Highness'- a vast change from when he and Arwen had first arrived, he noted wryly. Amil, Amrod and Amras had extracted a promise from him, that they would be able to meet Arwen soon. To his relief, they had seemed already to accept her presence as part of the family, and had not pressed too hard for details on why she had needed to spend time in Lord Irmo and Lady Este's care. To them, she was here now, and part of Maglor's family, meaning she was part of their family as well, and that was all that mattered.

Making his way inside, Maglor thought to seek out young Ingalaurë, for surely Arwen would be with him, but Finrod saved him the effort; he stood at the foot of the main stairs in the family wing of the palace, and his fair face was troubled.

Maglor immediately tensed. “What happened?”

Finrod raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Nothing, truly. It is just that...” He sighed. “Dior, Nimloth and their family arrived today, as I told you.”

Maglor nodded, although his heart sank at the thought of facing the one-time ruler of Doriath. After the Second Kinslaying... “And?”

Finrod's eyes went down. “Dior's sons took it upon themselves to go and meet Arwen, and I do not know what, exactly, was said, but she came indoors pale and upset, returned to her room and has only said that she wishes to be left alone. Her door is locked, and she will not say what troubles her.”

Maglor was already striding for the stairs. “Has Ingalaurë said anything?”

“Only that Eluréd and Elurín were speaking to Arwen in Sindarin. He believes Lúthien's name was mentioned, but he understood little else.”

 _Perfect_. Maglor thought grimly, all but running towards Arwen's room, outpacing Finrod. He had learned enough from Arwen, when he had coaxed her to discuss her experiences, usually after she had woken from a nightmare, to understand why being compared to Lúthien would frighten and unsettle her- during his display of false friendship, and after, when Arwen's fea was trapped within the Void, Morgoth had constantly made such comparisons. Little wonder she could not bear to hear such things now, however kindly they were meant!

He had just reached the corridor that held his own, and Arwen's rooms, and had slowed to a walk, when to his amazement, he saw another elfling there. Younger than Arwen, if only by a few years, the little elleth had long bright-gold hair in a fraying braid and tear-filled blue eyes. Maglor knew he had never seen her before, but something in her features was familiar. She also seemed to be very distressed, gulping back tears and glancing around helplessly.

His self-taught parental instincts took over and Maglor went and knelt before the crying child. “What's wrong, little one?”

“N-Nana said to come and meet her in the guest room once I h-had been to the privy, b-but this place is so big, I can't find her!” Sobs punctuated her words, and she had clearly been wandering around for a while judging by her tearstained face and panicked expression.

Maglor fought the urge to smile- the little one was clearly distraught, and laughing would not help. “I understand. The palace is easy to become lost in.” He offered her his unscarred hand and stood up when she took it. “Shall I help you find her?”

The elfling sniffled but nodded. Maglor glanced once more at Arwen's room- she needed him, certainly, but she was in her room, and no-one would bother her there. It would not take too long for him to escort this little one back to where the Vanyar guests were being housed and find her mother, for a Vanya was whom he assumed the child to be, with that golden hair, and then he could return and focus upon Arwen without distractions.

“What is your name, little one?”

“A-Anariel.”

“A lovely name.” Maglor smiled warmly at her. “Now, dry those tears. We do not want your amme to think you are weeping because of me, do we?”

Anariel blinked as if confused, but obediently wiped her face. Only then did it dawn on Maglor that she had used the Sindarin word for mother- Nana- instead of the Quenya Amme. If her habit was to use Sindarin words, she could not be a child of the Vanyar, so he reconsidered his plan rapidly.

“What is your Nana's name?”

“Elwing.” Anariel replied immediately.

Maglor froze, his heart sinking into his boots. He had been informed that Ëarendil and Elwing had had a daughter, of course, but he had also been told that they visited Tirion only rarely, and did not attend large social gatherings. Why would they be here now, with the king's Begetting Day feast imminent? More to the point, how could he, with his history with Elwing, lead her little daughter back to her and expect her to believe that the child had been lost and he had only guided her back to her room? Elwing would never believe a word of it! Her utter lack of response to the letter he had sent her, weeks ago, was proof enough that she would never forgive him for his sins against her.

Anariel blinked up at him innocently. “Are you alright? You've gone a funny color...”

Maglor straightened. Regardless of his own conflicting feelings, he had said he would return Anariel to her mother, and so he would. “I am fine, little one. I just became lost in thought.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly, leading her back towards the stairs, and down them. “Let's go and find your mother.”

He would have to face Elwing sooner or later, after all, and surely she would not make a scene in front of her young daughter, in the middle of Arafinwë's palace, no matter what ill will she bore towards him?

That thought did not help him when, upon reaching the ground floor, he saw Elwing herself run into the foyer, her face anxious.

“Nana!” Anariel immediately dropped Maglor's hand and ran forward.

Elwing caught her daughter in a tight embrace, whispering softly to her, nodding when Anariel explained that she had become lost. Smoothing her daughter's hair, Elwing looked up to where Maglor still stood, frozen, uncertain of what to do or say.

Her face remained calm enough, pleasant, but blank. Maglor felt a faint sense of optimism- perhaps this would not go so badly as he feared?

“Thank you for escorting my daughter back to me.” Elwing's voice was pleasant enough, even grateful. “She is not used to such large places. I should have realized she would lose her way if left alone.”

“It was no problem. She is a sweet child.” Maglor felt as if he were in some strange dream, to have Elwing acting as if there was no dark history between them.

“Thank you, my lord.” She inclined her head slightly. “I am Elwing Dioriel. I do not believe we have met before, my Lord...” She trailed off, clearly waiting for him to provide his name, and Maglor almost ceased breathing.

How could he not have realized?! Back at Sirion, it had been Maedhros who had corresponded with Elwing, and faced her in those horrific last moments. Maglor had glimpsed Elwing from afar, that fateful day, but she had never, at any point, set eyes upon him.

She had no idea who he was. What could he do now?!

* * *

**Elvish Names and Translations:**

**Míriel Serindë: The first wife of Finwë, mother of Fëanor, a renowned seamstress and weaver who died shortly after Fëanor's birth.**

**Amil/Amme: Quenya for Mother/Mama.**

**Atar: Quenya for Father.**

**Nana: Sindarin for Mama.**

**Vanyar: The first and smallest clan of the Elves. They dwell close to Taniquetil, the dwelling place of Manwe and Varda, and are known for their golden-blonde hair.**

**Dioriel: Has the same meaning in Quenya and Sindarin (I think), daughter of Dior.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the History of Middle-Earth series, Tolkien states that Maglor was married, although we do not know the name of his wife. For the purposes of this story, I am disregarding that. My version of Maglor in this AU has never been married. Sorry if this upsets any die-hard canon fans.
> 
> Míriel Serindë having a workroom of her own that was given to Fëanor in the end is entirely my own invention. It was a 'clubhouse' of sorts for the sons of Fëanor in their youth, and it made a good place for Maglor's reunion with Nerdanel, Amrod and Amras to happen in private.


	9. Chapter 9

Arwen, still feeling shaky and scared after Eluréd and Elurín's comments, was also starting to feel annoyed with herself- her great-uncles had meant no harm, she _knew_ that, but hearing again the name that _he_ had used for her had made her want to scream, and run off and hide somewhere. It was pathetic for her to have reacted in such a way, and she should know better, surely? Eluréd and Elurín, and Ingalaurë, must think her mad, after the way she had bolted!

Swallowing hard, she resolved to go and find them, and explain as best she could, although she knew she must not reveal the entire story of why comparisons to Lúthien upset her. Darting into her bathing room, she splashed cool water on her face, hoping to hide the evidence of the tears that had fallen, before moving towards the door of the bedroom that was hers but still seemed far too large and grand for her.

Footsteps on the landing outside made her freeze, and out of habit, she closed her eyes and 'listened', wanting to know who was there before she showed herself. Her shoulders sagged in relief when she recognized Daerada Maglor's 'colors' and she was about to open the door when she noticed someone else there. A strange, bright mixture of starlight, sunlight and the deeper Music that shone through Arwen's own family- Ada, Elladan and Elrohir, herself, and Eluréd and Elurín. She frowned, concentrating- was there another of the family here that she had not yet met? An image flashed into her mind, an elfling, just younger than her, with blonde hair in messy braids and blue eyes. She and Daerada were walking downstairs hand in hand, and, listening, Arwen caught Daerada saying they were going to find the elfling's nana. Well, that made sense. The elfling must have gotten lost in the huge palace and he was taking her back to her mother. Goosebumps raised on Arwen's arms and almost without deciding to do so, she slipped out of her room and followed, walking as quietly as she could. She was curious to find out who the child was and something was urging her on, saying that Daerada would need her. She didn't know why, exactly, but followed nonetheless. At the bottom of the upper flight of stairs, she ducked and hid behind the banister, watching as he and the child who shone like family went into the foyer, and the elfling ran forward, towards an elleth who had just run in.

Arwen, still concealed and unnoticed, surveyed the newcomer. She too, glowed as only their family did, but she gave off a sensation of waves and salt-laden winds, as well. _Elwing._ The name came to her mind unbidden, as had the names of Eluréd and Elurín when she saw them, and she inched closer, curious to get a good look at Ada's birth mother.

Elwing was thanking Daerada for returning Anariel to her (Arwen could have kicked herself for not realizing who Anariel was sooner, as she knew that her aunt existed, thanks to Ingalaurë, and this child had the same multi-hued inner light that marked all their family, but, to be fair, Anariel looked _nothing_ like any family Arwen had known, except perhaps Daernaneth, back in Middle-Earth).

Re-focusing on the conversation, Arwen's eyes widened as she realized Elwing did not know who Daerada was. This made her frown: how could that be? Daerada had adopted Ada and Uncle Elros after Elwing left Middle-Earth in search of Ëarendil, so how could she not know her sons' adoptive father by sight? She shifted a little closer, still in her crouched position, and her shoe made a squeaking noise on the polished stone floor, making all three of the elves on the ground floor turn to look at her.

Her face flushed scarlet but she stood and walked down the second flight of stairs as if she hadn't a care in the world, out of habit going to Daerada's side, smiling as his arm slid round her shoulders. When she glanced at Elwing, again feeling the deep-down sense of recognition that said this was family, she was surprised to find Elwing staring at her, wide-eyed and pale faced. A shaking hand covered Elwing's mouth, and she blinked back tears. Arwen's smile faltered. What had she done wrong?

“Arwen Elrondiel?” Elwing's voice was a breathy whisper, as if she believed Arwen was not real, somehow.

Anariel, who had been nestled close to her mother, now peered at Arwen, curiosity gleaming in her sea-blue eyes. “Arwen? Are you really my niece?”

Arwen nodded, smiling at the younger child tentatively, slightly concerned at the almost grieved look upon Elwing's face. Why had she not spoken yet?

At last, she did, shaking her head slowly. “You... you look just like my- like L-”

Arwen's stomach clenched at hearing that comparison _again_ \- why did no-one seem to notice anything else about her beyond her looks?! She felt Daerada tense, and he stepped forward, moving almost as if to shield her from Elwing. “I am sure Arwen has heard that more than enough in the past, Lady Elwing. It does not need to be repeated again.”

Elwing finally tore her eyes from Arwen, back to Daerada, and her face whitened still further. Her eyes flashed, and she retreated several steps, tugging a confused looking Anariel with her. Elwing's narrowed eyes went straight to the old, deep burn scar on Daerada's hand, visible as his arm was still round Arwen, and her face twisted with what looked like hatred. “Maglor Fëanorion.” She all but hissed his name.

Daerada raised his good hand in a peace-making gesture, tightening his grip on Arwen. “Lady Elwing, I am sure you do not wish to have this discussion in front of your daughter and granddaughter-”

“Do you think I wish to hear parenting advice from the likes of you?” Elwing's face, which Arwen thought might be pretty under normal circumstances, was twisted in a scowl that made her look positively unpleasant. “I suppose I should be grateful that you brought Anariel back to me, instead of reverting to your old behavior where lost children are concerned!” Her tone was acidic, and Daerada's face fell, creased as if he were holding back pain.

Arwen couldn't help it; she snapped at Elwing. “Do not upset Daerada like that!”

Elwing's lips turned bloodless at that, and Arwen would have said more, but Daerada tugged her backwards, shaking his head at her in warning. The expression he wore now, his lips in a firm line, one eyebrow arched, was a warning she knew well. It meant 'Behave.' So she remained quiet, but did not look at Elwing, or apologize. She did not understand what Elwing had meant, however; should she not be grateful to the person who had taken in her young sons and raised them when she was not there? Instead, Elwing acted as if she hated the very sight of Maglor, and Arwen just did not understand why. Nor did it make any sense to her that Daerada looked almost guilty, with tears shining in his eyes.

What part of this story had she not understood? She shuddered as her mind carried her back to Middle-Earth, when she had still considered _him_ a friend, right before he had cast her fea from her hroa. He had lured her from home- her old home- with promises of a tale of Daerada and his brothers. But what he had said had been so frightening, so _wrong_ , that she had refused to believe it was anything but lies.

But now, seeing how Elwing was treating Arwen's beloved Daerada- what if _he_ had been telling the truth about Maglor and his past? Could he really have done such terrible things?

While she was struggling to make sense of any of this, Elwing had been staring at her, then whirled back to Daerada, her eyes now blazing with wrath. “So you first steal my sons, now you have poisoned my own granddaughter against me? Is there no evil you will not stoop to to achieve your own ends, Kinslayer?”

Daerada winced, and, despite her new doubts, Arwen's heart ached to see him suffering. Tears pricked her eyes- should she go to him, or not? It seemed like it would only make things worse...

Anariel, who was hiding behind Elwing by this point, let out a whimper. The tiny sound almost seemed to break the tense atmosphere, and Elwing's face was the picture of remorse as she turned, and, kneeling, embraced her daughter. “I am sorry, iell nin. I did not mean to scare you.”

“B-but he was nice when he helped me find you. Why are you shouting at him now?” Anariel's voice was thick with confusion.

Arwen, normally, would have gone and hugged a younger child who was upset, but Elwing had made her nervous, with her temper, and Anariel was a stranger, as well as technically being Arwen's own aunt. She wasn't sure she wanted to go any closer. Besides, Daerada still looked miserable, his shoulders slumped, looking dejectedly at the ground. Surely he needed her more than Anariel did?

She saw a tear on his face and that decided her. She embraced him instead, the way Ada used to when Daerada became sad, standing on her tiptoes to whisper to him. “I love you, Daerada. No matter what she says you've done.”

Daerada held her close, as a sound that could have been a choked off sob came from him. Arwen pressed her face to his shoulder, deciding there and then that it didn't matter if _he_ had been telling the truth about Daerada's past. He'd raised Ada and Uncle Elros, Ada loved him, and he had always been part of Arwen's family. She would love him as such, no matter what. Besides, _she_ had done bad things, listening to _him_ , being foolish enough to trust him, and almost letting him back into the world, but she had been forgiven, healed, and not punished. Daerada deserved the same thing.

Turning her face just enough that she could see Elwing, Arwen tried to communicate with her expression alone how she was feeling. If this was Ada's birth mother, Arwen was almost glad she hadn't known her until now- she was ill-tempered and unpleasant. Arwen wanted very little to do with her.

Finrod all but ran into the foyer, his fair face anxious, followed by a tall ellon with blue-black hair much like Arwen's own, whom she had not seen before but who, like Elwing and Anariel, bore the mingled fea colors and charged-ozone feeling of being kin. He looked bizarrely like her, or that was the impression she got in the fleeting glimpse she saw of his face (Dior, that knowing-sense in her mind informed her, and she stifled a gasp, trying not to stare) before he moved to stand between Elwing and Daerada, expression blank, looking at neither of them.

Finrod's eyes quickly swept over the scene: Arwen in Daerada's arms, all but glowering at Elwing, who stood defensively, arms held out to either side slightly, as if she was shielding Anariel from them, Anariel with her hands pressed to her ears, trembling, and Daerada himself, clinging to Arwen, but not seeming able to look up or speak. Finrod kept his eyes on Elwing and the new ellon who now stood before her in silence, even as he called out. “Ingalaurë!”

His son appeared a few minutes later. “Yes, Atar?”

“It seems your cousins have now met. Perhaps you'd like to take them for a walk, explore the market, for a while, while Elwing, Dior, Maglor and I have a discussion?”

Ingalaurë looked uncertain. “If you like...” He looked at Arwen, who hesitated. If she went with Ingalaurë, would Finrod or Dior stand up for Daerada if Elwing upset him again?

 _Go on, tithen el. It will be well. You can purchase some small things for your room, if you wish. Ingalaurë will keep you company, and you can get to know Anariel a little_. Daerada sent to her, smoothing her hair with his hand as he eased her away from him. _There are things that need to be said that are not for your ears, nor the other elflings_.

_But-_

_Please, Arwen. There are matters I need to set right with Elwing, and I will not be able to speak plainly with children present. I will come and fetch you as soon as I can, I promise_.

Arwen did not want to go anywhere without him, but nor did she wish to add to his distress, so she nodded, and stepped towards Anariel, offering her hand. “Would you like to come and help Ingalaurë show me around the market? I'd love to see your favorite places.”

“I haven't been there before.” Anariel whispered shyly as she cautiously took Arwen's hand.

“That's all right, we can explore together.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, while winking at Ingalaurë above Anariel's head. “I bet we can find more exciting things to look at than Ingalaurë knows, anyway.”

Anariel let out a soft giggle, while Ingalaurë tried to look affronted, an expression spoiled by his laugh. “Come along then, we will make it a competition: Who can find the most interesting things to buy!”

Arwen grinned, all but ready to leave, but Anariel hung back, looking anxiously at Elwing, who was still being held back by Dior's hand upon her shoulder.

Elwing by now had folded her arms, glaring at Daerada. “There is nothing further I wish to say to _him_ so there is no reason to send the children off.”

“Elwing.” Dior's voice was low, deeper than one usually heard in an elf. “This conversation _is_ going to take place. This situation needs to be resolved. For everyone's sake.” Still keeping his grip on his daughter, he glanced down at Anariel, managing a small smile. “Go on, daeriel, run along with your niece and cousin. And have fun. Someone will come to fetch you soon.”

Anariel nodded obediently. “Yes, Daerada.”

Ingalaurë, at a gesture from Finrod, looped his arm through Arwen's free one and led her and Anariel from the room. As they left, an elleth with pale blonde hair swept into the room, going immediately to Dior's side, taking little notice of the elflings except to shoot a startled glance at Arwen, though she quickly hid her look of shock.

Anariel's greeting of 'Daernana!' went all but unheard, as Ingalaurë soon had them out of earshot and the elleth was apparently focused on the scene before her.

As the three elflings made their way out of the palace and through the streets, it only then truly dawned on Arwen that this was the first time she had been outside in Tirion without Daerada, and nerves churned in her stomach. Not just at her situation, but for what Daerada might be going through, alone, when the only person with him who seemed to actually _like_ him was Finrod. Maybe she should have stayed...

“Why was Nana so upset with that other elf?” Anariel asked, looking worriedly up at first Ingalaurë, then at Arwen.

“I...” Arwen trailed off. She had some notion, now, of why Elwing might dislike Daerada- those terrible old stories of kinslaying, however true or untrue they might be- but surely Anariel did not need to hear that?

“I wouldn't worry, Anariel.” Ingalaurë spoke brightly, though, to Arwen at least, it rang false. “Adults often quarrel. It's upsetting, but Atar and your grandparents will sort things out.”

“So the elleth who entered just as we left was Lady Nimloth?” Arwen queried. Ingalaurë nodded, and she frowned. Dior's wife, the mother of Elwing, Eluréd and Elurín, her own great-grandmother, another member of her family reborn... how many _were_ there that she had yet to meet? Shaking that thought off, she focused on the new family she _had_ just met: her younger-than-her aunt.

“So what kind of things do you think we'll see at the market?” She bent slightly, so it would be clear she was addressing Anariel, not Ingalaurë.

The blonde elleth was chewing one of her braids nervously, occasionally peeking at Arwen from under her lashes, but her only reply was a shrug- clearly, she was shy.

Ingalaurë, unseen by Anariel, due to being so much taller, rolled his eyes. Arwen deliberately trod on his foot.

“Well, there was a small market sometimes where I used to live, though it only took place once a week.” Arwen's eyes stung at the recollection of the small but cheerful market in the valley of Rivendell, that always had _some_ new book, trinket or sweet treat for her to 'sample'. “I expect the market here will be a lot bigger, so you'd best stay close to Ingalaurë and I. We don't want to become separated and get lost.”

Anariel's eyes widened and she shook her head, braids flying. Her small hand tightened on Arwen's.

Ingalaurë sighed. “I should have told you. It takes a while for her to start speaking when she first meets someone, she's very shy.”

“Oh? Well, don't worry. We're family, and I'm sure we'll make friends soon.” She gave the younger elleth a warm smile, and for some reason, Ingalaurë, who was watching her, all but tripped over his own feet, swallowing hard, his face reddening. Ellyn were odd creatures, she mused. Her brothers had never been that clumsy, had they?

Anariel managed a small nod, now gazing up at Arwen with awe. “Do you think Nana is alright?” So it seemed her silence was more to do with worry about the argument they had witnessed than about any shyness around a new person.

Personally, Arwen was more concerned for Daerada than for Elwing, but she understood it must have been frightening for Anariel to see her mother become so angry so fast. “They'll all be fine, I'm sure. They will all have made up by the time we go back, just like Ingalaurë said.”

Another tiny nod from Anariel, though she did not look fully reassured- Arwen wasn't, either!

“The market is just a few streets ahead.” Ingalaurë pointed, but he hardly needed to do so- the echoes of voices, sellers hawking their wares, whinnying from horses, dogs barking, and other sounds of commerce clearly showed where the market was.

The sheer teeming mass of people, filling the entire market square, or so it seemed, daunted Arwen at first: how could there be so many people in one city, and all, it seemed, in a hurry? Ingalaurë was striding ahead, obviously confident in exploring, but Anariel shrank back, pressing close to Arwen, as if she too felt uneasy about the crowds.

Oddly, the child's presence reassured Arwen somewhat: she did not have time to panic, she needed to be 'the grown up', keep Ingalaurë in sight and keep Anariel safe at her side. “Come on, Adathel, let's go and have a look around!” Making sure she had a firm grip on Anariel's hand, she led her after Ingalaurë, her heart pounding. From excitement or nerves, even she had no idea.

A glance down one row of vendors had her grinning, however: at least three people here had puppies for sale. She missed the dog she'd had to leave behind in Rivendell, and Daerada _had_ said she could get 'something small'. Puppies were small, and it wasn't as if the palace lacked room- the place was big enough to house several stables' worth of dogs!

Darting forward, pulling Anariel with her, she just managed to catch Ingalaurë's sleeve, and, not bothering to try and shout over the noise of the busy market, merely nodded towards the vendors she wished to approach, then heading towards them, trusting that Ingalaurë would follow.

“What are you doing?” Anariel whispered.

Arwen grinned at her. “I'm going to get a puppy to take home.”

Her little aunt's eyes widened. “Are you allowed?”

“Of course!” Arwen's eyes gleamed. “I know, shall we get a pup for you too?”

“Uh... I don't know. Nana has lots of birds around our tower. I think a dog might scare them off.”

Ingalaurë overheard this and shook his head. “Not if you get it used to other animals early on, and teach it to behave, Anariel. All dogs can be taught.”

“And he would know, he has about a dozen!” Arwen 'whispered' to Anariel, smirking. “And they're all really playful. But they don't seem to know how big they are- or, if they do, they just adore toppling people to the ground.” A fact she had witnessed for herself a few days ago, when Ingalaurë had shown her his prized hounds, and they'd both emerged from the stables looking as if they'd been bathing in straw.

“I don't want a really big dog!” Anariel seemed alarmed now.

“It's alright,” Arwen assured her. “Neither do I. We'll find nice small ones to be our companions. Now come along, let's see what breeds can be found here...” Concentrating on acquiring a new pet for herself, and one for her aunt, did a fairly good job of keeping her mind off all the eyes she imagined staring at her right now, and also off what Elwing might be saying to Daerada now- Finrod was there, he wouldn't let Daerada get any more upset, surely.

Ingalaurë stopped before one particular stall, one that looked as if it carried only ironware, smithing and crafting tools, and pointed. Arwen, following his gaze, gasped in amazement. Beneath the table sat a basket, with the two sweetest little puppies curled up together inside it. She pointed them out to Anariel, running over to get a better look. They were both stocky pups, but cuddly, with thick black fluffy fur. Her mind was already made up: these puppies were meant for her and Anariel. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and approached the vendor, a muscular ellon with reddish-brown hair, asking about the price: she already knew that anything she bought would be billed to the royal treasury, and that Daerada, as a prince, had more than enough for them to live on. Approaching a stranger was difficult, but it helped that she could almost see similarities to Daerada in the ellon's face and the shape of his eyes.

The fact that Daerada hadn't actually said she could have a puppy, she chose to ignore- he wouldn't tell her no, surely, considering she had been allowed to have one back in Rivendell, before... everything. As for Anariel, well, she was almost Arwen's age, well able to care for a pet, and Arwen couldn't imagine why Elwing would begrudge her a little puppy. It was only a small thing to ask for...

* * *

**Elvish Translations:**

**Nana: Sindarin for Mama.**

**Daerada: Sindarin for Grandpa.**

**Daernana: Sindarin for Grandma.**

**Tithen el: Little star.**

**Daeriel: Sindarin for granddaughter.**

**Adathel: Sindarin for aunt, contracted version of 'adar-muinthel' which literally means 'father's sister'.**

**Ellon: Male elf.**

**Ellyn: Plural of male elf.**

**Iell nin: My daughter, literally 'daughter mine'.**

**Elrondiel: Daughter of Elrond.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/newfoundland-puppy-two-puppies-sitting-quietly-grass-33695692.jpg
> 
> This is a stock image used to show you the breed of puppies that Arwen is buying for herself and Anariel in this chapter. They're Newfoundland puppies, so those of you who know dog breeds will know that the 'cute puppies' won't be as small as Arwen assumes forever...


	10. Chapter 10

Maglor stood where he was, braced as if for a blow. He did not expect Elwing to actually strike him, of course, but Dior might well decide it was deserved- and it was, he knew that. Nimloth slipping into the room to Dior's side did nothing to decrease the tension in the room and even the ever-cheerful Finrod was beginning to look uncomfortable.

The silence continued, as if everyone was waiting for someone else to be the first to speak.

Unsurprisingly, it was Elwing whose ill mood and impatience got the better of her first. “Do not stand there looking like an injured pup and making people pity you!” She was glaring daggers at Maglor, her fists clenched, face white with anger.

“Elwing.” Nimloth's voice was as calm as a still pond. “This matter needs to be discussed rationally.”

Elwing turned to stare at her. “How can you of all people say that?! This... _monster_ and his accursed brothers caused your death, and Adar's, and countless others of our people!”

Maglor winced slightly at being called a monster, but, he supposed, from her perspective, given her history with his family, it was true.

“That was well over an Age ago.” Dior interjected firmly. “We all have changed greatly since those dark times. And I think we all know that is not the true reason you still feel such hate towards Maglor, is it, iell nin?”

Elwing's face tightened, her expression becoming unreadable. “Do I need a reason beyond the slaughter of our people to loathe someone?”

“No, but as your adar and I were among those killed by the Oath-driven actions of the Feanorians, and we now bear Maglor no grudge, I cannot understand why you insist upon this rage.” Nimloth regarded her daughter carefully. “Unless of course there was some other emotion concealed behind your anger.”

There was, Maglor was privately certain of that, but he did not feel it was his place to point it out. But he recalled all too well how young Elrond and Elros had been when he discovered them, abandoned at the Havens of Sirion, just six years old, little more than babes, and, honestly, the _lack_ of time it had taken them to bond with him, requesting if they could call him 'Ada' after less than six months in his care, when all he had been doing was spending time with them, trying to earn some facet of trust, had been worrying. It had been a large concern of his all those centuries ago- just how slender had their attachment to their barely-adult mother been, that the memory of her had been forgotten or discarded so soon? To him, it was clear that Elwing's guilt over her actions towards her sons, lost to her so long ago, was driving her anger now. To say anything of that at present though, would do him no favors: it would only enrage Elwing further and could well dissuade Dior and Nimloth from their (inexplicable) defense of him.

“I need no reason beyond the fact that you all are apparently willing to forget all the blood that stains this one's hands and welcome him as if he were kin!” Elwing practically hissed.

“He _is_ my kin.” Finrod did not raise his voice, but nonetheless made sure that all could hear him. “And as you- all of you- are guests in my father's home, and here to celebrate his Begetting Day, I must request that all of you remain civil. To _all_ those who live in or are visiting the palace.”

Elwing's clenched fists actually trembled with fury and now even her lips were white with anger. “Fine. I will retire to my rooms until my daughter returns.” She made a half-bow in Finrod's direction. “I apologize- to _you_ \- for any offence I have caused.” Without looking at her parents, she swept from the room, pausing only to look at Maglor through narrowed eyes.

It cost him no small effort, but he managed to meet her livid gaze, trying his utmost to show his genuine remorse and grief for all the harm he had done to her and hers, so long ago. It seemed it had little effect, for her parting words, sent directly into his thoughts, sent a chill through his very bones.

 _'I know not how you have won such loyalty, Kinslayer, but rest assured, I will not be fooled. Before this year is out, I will have my granddaughter in my care, where she belongs. Not with the likes of you._ '

She let the door slam closed behind her, and Dior and Nimloth both apologized for their daughter's behavior, to Finrod and to Maglor himself. Both stated that there _were_ matters from the past that needed to be aired between them, (the very thought of which sent a chill down Maglor's spine- that was not a conversation he was looking forward to, in the least) but they agreed with Finrod that such things could wait until after Arafinwë's Begetting Day- they were, after all, here for a celebration, not the redress of old grievances.

Maglor scarcely registered their words, and he excused himself as soon as he could, holding back both searing anger and a cold, deep fear. Elwing's words- her threat- continued to echo in his mind, but only brought him to a firm resolve.

She would be removing Arwen from his charge only when his hroa perished and his fea fled to Mandos' Halls. He had made a promise to Elrond and Celebrían, that he and no other would raise Arwen, and no matter what Elwing might try, or who he had to humble himself before, be it Arafinwë, Olwë, Ingwë, or Manwë and Varda themselves, he _would_ keep his word. Arwen was his ward, and even if he set aside how much she still needed his reassurance in coping with her nighttime fears, she was as much a part of his family as she was Elwing's, if not more so, for he loved his adopted granddaughter, and she would remain such.

* * *

**Elvish Translations**

**Iell nin: Sindarin, 'my daughter', literally 'daughter mine'.**

**Hroa: Body.**

**Fea: Soul, spirit.**

**Ingwë: King of the Vanyar 'tribe' of Elves and High King over them, the Noldor and the Teleri.**

**Olwë: King of the Teleri.**

**Arafinwë: King of the Noldor.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so I don't offend anyone, I will clarify Maglor's thoughts concerning Elwing, Elrond and Elros as shown in this chapter:  
> I do NOT think Elwing was a willfully abusive parent, but I do think that, considering how young she was (by Elven standards) when she had her sons, while also missing her husband, running a settlement, trying to fight a losing war, dealing with Maedhros' demands for the Silmaril, and quite possibly being enchanted by the jewel itself, while struggling with the trauma of her own childhood (losing Doriath, her parents and her brothers) I think it more than likely that her young sons might've ended up neglected and starved for affection, hence why (in my story) Maglor recalls them latching on to him so quickly.


	11. Chapter 11

Anariel squirmed in her seat, trying to make the fine lace on the neck of her gown feel less itchy against her skin. It did not help, and her fidgeting only earned her a warning look from her Daernana, who sat a few seats ahead on the opposite side of the table. She tried not to sigh, sitting up straight as she had been told to do. She had not expected this Begetting Day feast to be so long, or so _boring_. The last course had just been served, but Anariel was already full. She didn't even have anyone to talk to, either: Nana hadn't come, although she had sent a gift to Arafinwë, and she had not wished Anariel to attend either, although Anariel wasn't certain why. Daerada and Daernana had insisted that Anariel join them, even if Nana wouldn't, however, and so now she was seated next to Uncle Eluréd who was deep in conversation with Uncle Elurín, and taking little notice of her.

Further up the table, Anariel could see Arwen, sitting next to Maglor, not far from where Finrod and his family were sitting, only a few seats down from King Arafinwë and Queen Eärwen. Arwen didn't look as bored as Anariel felt, but then again, Maglor was talking to her, letting her feel included. Maybe if she slipped from her chair and went to join them... Nana had repeatedly told Anariel not to speak to Maglor, but had refused to explain why. She had been ill-tempered ever since that first meeting with Maglor and Arwen, and Anariel worried over making things worse- it had been unpleasant enough when she had proudly taken her new puppy to show Nana, after the trip to the market a few days ago. Nana had sighed, saying the tower wasn't ideal for a dog, and Anariel was really too young for a pet. Anariel had then complained that Maglor had allowed Arwen to keep hers, and she wasn't that much older- he had laughed and even played with the pups when he saw them. Nana had scowled at that, then 'suggested' that the puppy be left in Alqualondë with Daerada and Daernana, and Anariel could visit it, but she didn't want the animal in the tower. The puppy had been left in the palace kennels since then, despite Anariel's pleas to her nana, but then there had been a rush to prepare them for the feast, as neither of them had brought gowns fit to wear to such an event. (Nana hadn't needed her new gown in the end, but it had been gifted to her anyway, as had the dress Anariel now wore.)

Others were now leaving their assigned seats throughout the hall, seeking out friends and mingling with them, so Anariel saw no reason not to do the same. The dress she now wore had apparently once belonged to Finrod's sister, and one of its trailing sleeves snagged on the arm of the chair as she slipped to the floor, reasoning in her mind that Nana had told her not to speak to Maglor, but she was not here, and besides, Anariel was not going to speak to him, she was going to speak to Arwen- that had not been forbidden.

No-one took much notice of her as she walked towards Arwen's seat, wondering if she would be able to squeeze onto the same chair as her niece, and stay there. But before she could say anything, three others- adults and strangers, two ellyn and an elleth, all with bizarre red hair- strode towards Maglor, calling out greetings and laughing.

Anariel shrank back against the tapestried wall as the three newcomers spoke to Arwen. The noise of the hall was such that she couldn't make out their words, but Arwen, while looking uneasy at first, soon smiled, and the red-haired elleth embraced her like long-lost family, after which, the two ellyn took turns ruffling Arwen's hair and one of them said something that made Arwen laugh and Maglor sigh dramatically and shake his head, while grinning. Only then did Anariel notice that the two red-haired ellyn, who were now standing on either side of Maglor, were identical twins, like her own uncles Eluréd and Elurín, and that made her frown. She had thought the only twins in the family _were_ her uncles, and of course her brothers, Elrond and now-dead Elros. But these others were clearly twins, and had greeted Arwen like family... were these, perhaps, some other kin she had yet to meet? She inched closer, trying to hear what they were saying.

Thus it was that she noticed a black nose and muzzle poking out from under the tablecloth near Arwen's chair, and she stared. Surely Arwen had not been allowed to bring her puppy into the feasting hall?!

Arwen, meanwhile, was happily speaking to Maglor, oblivious, or so it seemed, until she let her hand, clutching something from her plate, slide into her lap. The dog disappeared and Anariel stifled a giggle- was Arwen feeding the puppy under the table with no-one the wiser? How had she managed to get it into the hall and under the table without anyone noticing?

The pup poked its nose out again, probably looking for more food. This time Anariel couldn't hold back a giggle- it looked as if the dog was wearing the tablecloth as a veil! Apparently, the dog had heard her, because its whole head now appeared, sniffing the air, before its beady black eyes locked on her. Without further ado, it yipped and bounded out from beneath the table to her side, jumping up on its hind legs and whining. She stroked it so it would quiet down. Glancing around rapidly, Anariel didn't _think_ anyone had seen it yet, but she, and Arwen, and the dog, would be in trouble if anyone noticed it was in here.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced back up, her heart pounding. To her relief, the person staring at her was Arwen, who grinned, then gestured subtly with her head towards the tapestry behind Anariel.

 _'Take him behind there so you will not be seen._ ' Arwen's voice, somehow in Anariel's mind, made her jump, but when she stared at her niece and Arwen nodded, Anariel scooped up the puppy and obediently ducked behind the tapestry, finding, to her surprise, that there was quite a bit of space behind it. She sat cross-legged on the floor, puppy in her lap, and it immediately showed its appreciation of the attention by attempting to bathe her face in its drool.

She was still trying to fend it off, laughing quietly, while wiping at her face, when the tapestry shifted again and Arwen quietly slipped into the hiding place. The dog lunged at her as if its legs were springs, but Arwen- taller than Anariel- caught him with ease, cradling him. She grinned at the younger elleth. “Thanks for hiding him. I thought he might make the feast less dull, but he apparently didn't want to stay put.”

“How did you even get him in here? Didn't Maglor see?” Anariel felt a little uneasy at mentioning him, since her nana clearly didn't like him, but he was Arwen's guardian, and Elrond's friend, so surely he couldn't be that bad?

Arwen's silver-blue eyes darted to one side. “Uh... no, he didn't.”

Anariel gazed at her, feeling something like awe. “How'd you sneak the puppy past him and the other adults?”

“I...” Arwen looked thoughtful. “I can just... do things, sometimes. Like make people not notice things, if I concentrate hard. It's hard to explain.” She regarded Anariel closely. “Have you ever been able to do things others can't? We are family, after all...”

Anariel thought hard. “I don't _think_ so... what kind of things?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, like that mind-speak thing you just did? No, I can't do that. I think. I never tried. Oh! Nana can turn into a bird, did you know that? She knows how to talk to birds as well- there's hundreds around our tower. And _her_ daernana could change forms too, but I can't do anything like that. I'm boring.” She sighed.

Arwen's arm wrapped round her shoulders. “You're not boring, you're just young. You haven't learned everything you can do yet, that's all. I'll help you work it out, if you have gifts, if you like.” Suddenly, she started, her eyes widening. “Wait, Elwing still has the power to change into a bird? I thought... all the stories I've been told say that only happened once, as a gift from Lord Ulmo...”

Anariel shrugged, puzzled. “No. Nana becomes a bird every morning and evening when she flies to meet Ada on Vingilot.”

“So... she can just change into a bird whenever she wants?” Arwen's eyes drifted upwards, as if she could see the sky, despite being indoors. “That would be amazing...”

“Oh! I forgot. Uncle Eluréd and Uncle Elurín said they can do that too- become birds- but I've never seen them, so I don't know if it's true or not. They might have been teasing me.”

“If it's a family trait...” Arwen's tone was dreamy, but her words trailed off, and she shook her head, her expression sad. “But it can't be. Ada cannot do that- I never saw anything like that from him, or my older brothers. Maybe it's just Elwing and her brothers who retain that power.” She sighed, looking crestfallen.

Anariel thought quickly, wanting to cheer her up. “Who are the people talking to Maglor?”

“Hmm? Oh, that's his naneth, Lady Nerdanel, and two of his brothers, Amrod and Amras.” Arwen's eyes gleamed and she pulled back the tapestry just enough for them to peer out, keeping a firm grip on the puppy. “Do you see them?”

“Yes...”

“You wanted to know if you could use mind-speak, right? A good way to start is just what I call 'listening'. Keep facing Maglor, but close your eyes. It's like... reaching out with your mind.”

Obediently, Anariel did as she was told. A minute later, her eyes shot open in shock. “There are so many colors!”

Arwen smiled. “I know. Those are people's fëar, their spirits. Pretty, isn't it?”

“Yes. How come we can see them?”

Arwen paused. “You do know our family history, don't you? Lady Melian is a-”

“A Maia, I know. But I didn't realize that made us... different.” Was that why Nana preferred to live alone, Anariel wondered, because she- and Anariel- weren't like other people? But, Daerada and Uncles Eluréd and Elurín lived in Alqualondë, and they didn't mind...

“Not different. _Special_. That's what Daerada- Maglor always tells me, and he's right. There's nothing for us to be ashamed of, or afraid-” Arwen's mouth closed, and she breathed deeply before continuing. “We have nothing to fear as long as we're careful.”

“Careful of... what?”

“Just... don't talk to anyone in your mind that you don't know, alright? Then you'll be fine.”

Anariel squinted. “Arwen, are you alright? You've gone pale...”

“I'm fine.” Her voice was shaky, and Anariel was about to argue, when the puppy yipped and squirmed, and Arwen looked down at him. “I think this fellow needs to be taken outside. Do you want to come?” She shut her eyes for a minute, as if deep in thought. “If we remain beneath the tapestry until we get to the door, we should be able to slip out. Come on.”

Anariel nodded, letting Arwen lead the way. Her mind was still buzzing with questions- about Arwen, about the ability she had started to show Anariel- if Arwen could do... whatever that was as well, did that mean that Elrond could? And Nana... why hadn't she shown Anariel that power, 'seeing' the fea of anyone who was around her? She was desperate to find out everything Arwen knew, including what had scared her so suddenly when they had been talking.

However, as soon as they got outside, Ingalaurë emerged from the hall to join them, grinning at Arwen. “Thanks for giving me an excuse to leave. I spoke to my parents, and to Maglor, like you asked, about us being excused. They said we can be outdoors for a while, but we have to stay in this courtyard- wait.” He noticed Arwen's puppy, which was now running around their feet, sniffing everything. “How did he get out here?”

Arwen and Anariel exchanged looks, then both started laughing. With Ingalaurë there, however, Arwen seemed to have forgotten all about their earlier talk. She'd seemed almost relieved to see him, actually- Anariel froze as something struck her.

'I spoke to my parents, and to Maglor, like you asked, about us being excused.' Ingalaurë had been speaking to Arwen.

 _When_ had she asked him anything about leaving the feasting hall?

The puppy suddenly let out a series of high-pitched barks, and all three elflings followed its gaze. Elwing was crossing the courtyard, and it looked as if she had just changed direction upon seeing them, making her way towards them.

“Nana?” Anariel blinked. “I thought you weren't coming to the feast...”

“I am not, iell nin. I was merely taking a walk on such a fine day.” She hugged Anariel, who snuggled close to her, pleased that Nana seemed to be in a happier mood, at last. She felt Nana bow her head slightly.

“Prince Ingalaurë, good to see you.”

“And you, my lady.”

“And Arwen.” Nana's voice was thick, almost. Anariel looked up at her, a bit concerned. Was she crying? “I am sorry our first meeting became so... fraught.”

“You upset Daerada.” Arwen's voice was harsh, and Anariel winced, hoping Nana wouldn't become angry again.

“I was... surprised to see him, that's all, and my emotions got the better of me. I am sorry that I caused any distress.” Nana released Anariel and lowered herself to the ground, sitting on the grass, helping Anariel to sit beside her. “You are my family, Arwen, as much as Anariel is. I am well aware that you've been told Maglor's version of events from the past- can I not have some time to tell my own?”

Arwen looked wary, but slowly sat, as did Ingalaurë, who was chewing his lip nervously.

Nana smiled at Arwen. “Thank you for hearing me out, at least. I think it might be best if I explain why I had to leave your father and uncle at Sirion, and then I will try to answer any questions you have.”

Ingalaurë cleared his throat. “Lady Elwing, surely Maglor should be here for this as well-”

“No!” Her voice made all three children, and the puppy, jump. “I am sorry, but no. If he is here, I do not think I will be able to keep my temper.” Her eyes locked on Arwen's. “Please, just give me a chance. Hear what I have to say?”

Arwen held her gaze for a long minute, then nodded, her face set, her eyes shining almost eerily bright, her hair gleaming blue-black in the setting sun's light. “I'm listening.”

Anariel felt Nana shiver, muttering something about 'the very image of her', but then she took a deep breath and began to speak of life over an Age ago, when she and Ada had ruled a place called Sirion, while raising their two little sons...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't put any Elvish translations at the end of this chapter because I've done so on all the other chapters of this story, and no new words have been used in this one. 😉


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The middle part of this chapter is a memory of Maglor's, involving an unstable character with extreme PTSD having a flashback/nightmare and unwittingly threatening violence towards children. There is nothing graphic, and no-one actually gets hurt, but I'm putting this warning here anyway.

Maglor was literally _begging_ his two youngest brothers not to 'bequeath' Arwen their compiled book of practical jokes- he wouldn't have any peace for the next century if she got her hands upon that!- when Ingalaurë burst back into the hall, clutching Arwen's prized new dog to his chest, his eyes scanning the milling crowds of Elves who had forgone sitting, clearly searching for someone. His eyes fell upon Maglor and he rushed to his side, panting for breath.

Maglor's heart stopped in his chest. Arwen. It had to be. But what could have happened in such a short time? She, Ingalaurë and Anariel had only gone outside less than an hour ago! “What happened?!” Fear made his voice harsher than he intended, but Ingalaurë barely seemed to notice.

“Elwing... came over... while we... were in the... courtyard.” Ingalaurë took a deep breath and then was able to speak more normally. “She said she just wanted to tell Arwen her version of events from Sirion. But she started speaking in Sindarin. I don't know what she was saying, but Arwen got upset. She went pale, then started shouting back at her, then she ran off crying. I followed- she went into the gardens- but her footsteps just... vanished. So I came to get you.”

Maglor had tensed the instant Elwing's name had been mentioned, but now his blood turned to ice. He understood Elwing's hate of him, truly, but to act on it to the extent that Arwen was left so distraught- did Elwing care nothing for the child at all?! He mentally ran through the layout of the palace gardens in his mind. “You were in the courtyard, so I assume Arwen slipped into the garden by the gate near the scribes' wing?”

Ingalaurë had not even finished nodding before Maglor strode away, only hesitating to call back to the young ellon, “Tell your atar what has happened. I will find Arwen and bring her inside.” _And then, once I've calmed her, I'll see to it that Elwing explains herself._ No matter how many grievances she had with him, he would not allow her to get away with hurting Arwen in this manner- she had already endured more than enough suffering for a thousand lifetimes without her own grandmother adding to it!

As soon as he was outside, he broke into a swift run, heading straight for the gate that Arwen had used. It might well prove, of course, that Ingalaurë simply lacked the tracking skills of a more experienced elf and had simply lost Arwen's trail. If not... there were other ways of finding someone.

He glimpsed Elwing, kneeling before a weeping Anariel, out of the corner of his eye, but he spared her only a heated glare before entering the gardens.

He could clearly make out the tracks that Arwen had left in her flight, and Ingalaurë's as he had followed her. But, as Finrod's son had said, Arwen's footprints ceased after only a few yards. Narrowing his eyes, he scrutinized the nearby grass carefully, suddenly recalling something that had happened to both Elrond and Elros after an upsetting scene with Maedhros, eons ago. They had both been younger than Arwen now was, but if his theory was correct... _There_. Now that he was looking, he could clearly make out more tracks, ones that Ingalaurë would never have connected to Arwen, fine, three-clawed, spiky prints, that began a mere stride from where Arwen's footprints ended. Very few people now knew that Elwing's 'gift from Ulmo', taking the form of a bird, was in fact an inherited trait of the Peredhil line, one of the legacies of Melian's Maiar blood. Maglor recalled all too well when it had happened to Elrond and Elros, so long ago...

* * *

Maglor suddenly jerked awake, although he could not say what had woken him. Rising from his bed, he listened intently. Had one of the twins called out for him, or had he woken up for some other reason? A floorboard creaked outside, followed by barely-audible footsteps. From the lack of sound, whoever was moving around had to be an Elf- no servant of the Enemy could move so silently- but who would be wandering the halls of this house in Himring so late at night?

Another ominous creak sounded, and Maglor cracked open his bedroom door, sudden anxiety for the twins gripping his heart, though he could not say why. Peering out into the corridor, he saw only a tall silhouette stalking into Elrond and Elros' bedchamber, and he was out of his room and following, dagger in hand, before he'd even made a decision to arm himself.

A shaft of moonlight shone through the twins' window (they did not like sleeping in total darkness) and Maglor could see them both curled up sound asleep in Elrond's bed.

The 'shadowy figure' he had been following resolved itself into Maedhros in the silvery moonlight and Maglor heaved a sigh of relief.

“Maedhros. What are you doing in here? You'll wake them.”

He tensed when he noticed that his older brother held an unsheathed sword, and he did not respond at all to Maglor's words.

“Maedhros?” Maglor tentatively stepped closer, unsure if his brother was even awake- it would not be the first time Maedhros' mind had carried him back to his torment in Angband, while he slept, and made him act accordingly.

“Orcs.” Maedhros' voice was both slurred and hoarse, a clear sign that he was sleep-walking or trapped in some dark memory. His entire being was fixated on the sleeping Elrond and Elros. “More young Orcs to grow and eventually torment and slaughter my people.”

With no warning, he let out a bellow akin to a war cry, and raised the blade, lunging towards the twins. The loud noise startled both twins awake, and they let out cries of pure terror as Maglor just barely managed to tackle his brother to the floor and pin him, wrenching the sword from his hand. The twins practically sprang from the bed, clutching one another's hands tightly, and fled the room, wailing.

Maedhros' head struck the ground and his eyes blinked, lucidity returning all at once. Now he merely looked confused and dazed. “Maglor... what... where...”

As soon as his brother went limp, his muscles relaxed, Maglor released him, although Maedhros remained upon the ground, disoriented. “Orcs... Maglor, there were Orcs...”

He hated to leave him rambling and confused, but he had to go after the twins before they did get themselves hurt. Giving Maedhros one agonized glance, he ran from the room, keeping the sword with him- he might well need it for defense if the twins had fled outdoors at night.

A window banged just around the corner, ahead of him, and he bolted for it, terrified that the little ones might try to climb out and fall and kill themselves. What he actually saw when he rounded the corner stopped him short.

Two fledgling ravens with white patches upon their necks were hopping and squawking on the windowsill. Their panicked movements were clumsy- clearly, the birds were terrified, but upon seeing Maglor, they both hopped and half-fell towards him, staring up as if they knew him.

' _Ada!_ ' The terrified voice in Maglor's mind was clearly little Elrond's, and the nearer fledgling raven had let out a piteous 'Cawk!' at the exact same time.

His mouth dropped open. He had seen Elwing lifted from the Sea in the form of a swan, almost a year ago now, but, surely that could not mean... He let the sword fall and slowly reached out a trembling hand. “Elrond? Elros?” He scarcely dared to whisper- surely this was a dream!

“Cawk!” Both of the birds- the boys?- shuffled closer, nudging his hand with their downy heads.

' _Ada, what going on?_ ' Elros' mental voice was scared. ' _You bigger now_.'

“It's all right.” Maglor, still amazed at what he was seeing, instinctively used the tone he'd always used to reassure these two when they were frightened. “You two have learned a new skill, that's all. Listen to me, calm down, and relax.” He thought rapidly. “Pretend there is a mirror in front of you and you both can see yourselves. Think hard. What do you look like?”

To his immense relief, his complete shot in the dark worked, for a faint glow surrounded the fledgling ravens, and in a few minutes, two tired-looking elflings were kneeling before him. He pulled them into his arms and stood with ease. “Come along. It's late. I know you two had a fright from your uncle, but he's fine now, and you both should be asleep. We can talk about... this... more tomorrow.”

Elrond and Elros snuggled up against him, with mumbles of 'Yes' and 'Night, Ada,' and both were sound asleep before he placed them back into bed. Maedhros was no longer there, and concern pricked at Maglor- should he go and search for him? But, he could not leave the twins alone, and usually, after an episode like this night's, Maedhros only wished for solitude.

Guilt gnawed at him, but he ignored it. He could settle things with Maedhros when he returned. For now, he felt he needed to watch the twins. He shook his head. Changing to bird form, indeed. What had he gotten himself into, adopting two descendants of Melian? He loved them, no matter what they were capable of, but how could he help them with something like _this_? He got no more sleep that night, instead wracking his mind for any scrap of detail he could recall of the abilities of Maiar he had known, long ago, in happier times, for something that he could possibly adapt and use to guide his adopted sons through this new challenge.

* * *

Shaking off the memory, Maglor focused on the here and now, silently following the tracks of bird-prints that were dotted here and there erratically, along with squashed areas of grass that suggested Arwen was as clumsy in her avian form as Elrond and Elros had once been. He kept as quiet as possible, knowing that Arwen would be terrified at this change, for no-one had ever told her of this possibility. Her older brothers had never shifted, so Elrond had theorized that perhaps the ability had finally died from the family. _Evidently not_ , Maglor thought ironically, as he struggled through a thicket, then immediately halted as he saw the black bird of prey running back and forth, flapping its wings in agitation. It saw him and let out a high-pitched screech, half leaping and half flying, barely leaving the ground as it launched itself at him.

Maglor sat as if nothing were amiss, keeping his expression calm. “It's alright, Arwen.”

The bird- a sparrowhawk, he realized, far larger than the ravens that Elrond and Elros had shifted into- froze, then delicately stepped closer, its head cocked to one side.

' _Daerada?!_ ' Arwen's voice was high with panic. _'I don't... What's going on? What's happened to me?!'_

Tugging at the sleeve of his tunic to ensure his arm was covered, he slowly reached out, offering his arm as a perch. “It's alright. Come here, and I will explain.”

Arwen took several faltering steps, still unsteady in this form, and then managed to clamber onto his arm. The claws of this form tore his tunic, but not his skin, so he disregarded it. He regarded her for a long minute, then sighed. “I suppose this was to be expected, someday. You should have been told sooner.”

' _Is this... Anariel said that Elwing, and Eluréd and Elurín, can take bird form. Is that what this is? Have I done the same?'_ She spread her wings, turning her head, trying to look at herself in this form.

“Yes.” Maglor spoke softly, in case anyone else was in the gardens and overheard what he was saying- the shape-changing power of the Peredhil line had never been widely known in Middle-Earth, and he did not want it revealed openly here in Valinor. Not yet, not while they were still viewed as newcomers by most. “Your father and uncle could alter their forms as well.”

Arwen clicked her beak, doing rather a good job of showing annoyance despite the limitations of her current form. ' _Why didn't Ada ever tell me?'_

Maglor sighed. “This power, the ability... it was something he shared with your uncle, a joy only they knew. When Elros chose mortality, the gift was stripped from him. It seems only the Firstborn of the Peredhil line have the strength to alter their hroa in this way.” He was almost whispering, ensuring that Arwen alone could hear. “After Elros left this world... since then, your Adar only used this gift when he absolutely had to. That, and the fact that we did not know if you would even have this gift, is why he did not speak of it. It is a painful reminder of Elros to him, and what use would it have been to tell you, and your brothers, of a power you may not have possessed?”

' _But I do._ ' There was awe in Arwen's voice now, and she hopped from his arm to the ground, extending her wings and stretching them. ' _Do you think I can fly?_ '

Maglor shook his head. “Perhaps, but not yet. That will take time and practice.”

' _You'll help me? You must have helped Ada and Uncle Elros.._.' Arwen ruffled her feathers as if shuddering. ' _And I don't want to ask for any help from Elwing. Not after what she said about you._ '

Maglor's heart clenched. He had, briefly, let the reason that Arwen had been in enough turmoil to inadvertently shift form from elven to bird slip from his thoughts, but now... “Do you want to tell me what she said?” He would have to face, and answer, all of Arwen's questions about his past sooner or later, after all.

Her beak snapped angrily. _'No. She was saying terrible things about you, and I don't want to hear them. You're Ada's Adar, and I love you. I don't even like Elwing.'_

Relieved, although he knew it would need to be discussed eventually, he nodded. “In that case, I think we should go inside. But you'll need to change back first.”

' _H-how? I don't even know how I did this to begin with. I just wanted to get away from Elwing, so I ran, and then my arms and legs ached, and I... couldn't run any more. I kind of just... flapped and stumbled._ ' A note of fear crept back into Arwen's voice. _'What if I'm stuck this way?_ '

“You won't be.” Maglor sat down opposite her, as he had done with Elrond and Elros, over an Age ago, and held her gaze. “Stay still, and relax. Imagine there is a mirror in front of you, and you can see your own reflection. Concentrate on that, and just breathe.”

He closed his eyes against the glow that he knew would come, and sure enough, it shone against his eyelids a minute later. Arwen stood before him, looking shaken but also pleased. She flexed her hands and arms, as if making sure everything still worked.

Maglor stood and offered his hand without another word. This was how he had helped Elrond and Elros to deal with it- do not draw undue attention to something that is natural for those in their bloodline, and they will not panic either.

Arwen seemed to have no qualms about what had happened, but then again, knowing Elwing's story, he supposed she had been forewarned, in a way.

“Come along, Daeriel. We'll go inside. I need to have a few words with Arafinwë and Eärwen,” About Elwing, and what she'd done, upsetting Arwen, though he endeavored to keep that thought hidden, “And then you and I can talk more about your new talent.” Including how she should keep it to herself.

Arwen took his hand, smiling, obediently letting him escort her inside, although she did look tired now. “Daerada?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“What species of bird can Ada turn into?”

“A white-necked raven.” Maglor felt a smile tug at his lips as he remembered. “He was much younger than you the first time he managed it.”

“And Uncle Elros was the same? He turned into a raven as well?”

“Yes.” They were almost out of the gardens now, and Maglor reverted to speaking in Sindarin, to prevent any of the palace guards from overhearing. “And I can tell you, I had quite an exciting time, trying to convince them to remain in their elven forms when they first got the hang of changing at will. Not to mention, catching two small ravens who keep leaping around the room is far from easy.”

Arwen's clear, musical laugh echoed across the courtyard as they left the garden through the gate. “You did all that, even though you didn't know why they could change like that?”

“Of course.” Maglor squeezed her hand, giving her a warm smile. “They were my sons. I'd have done anything for them. As I would for you now.” He mock-frowned at her as they reached the palace steps. “By the way, I am very curious to know how that new dog of yours happened to be with Ingalaurë when he came to fetch me, considering that you and he went straight from the feast hall to the courtyard...”

He arched a brow, and chuckled to himself as Arwen's face reddened and she stammered excuses. Leading her inside, he did not notice the swan standing at the foot of a nearby statue, concealed in the shadows as night fell.

Elwing let the swan's form melt away, her eyes burning as she gazed after Maglor and Arwen. She had left Anariel with her brothers and gone looking for Arwen herself, horrified to have upset her granddaughter so much. Upon finding Maglor with her once again, Elwing had kept her distance- and overheard their entire conversation. It had left her feeling as if she were frozen in shock. Her sons, her boys, had had similar gifts to her own? Elrond too could shapeshift, like her, her adar, and brothers, and now, it seemed, Arwen too? Elros had had that power too. And she had never known, had not been there to guide them... She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. And Maglor, the Kinslayer, the one she had convinced herself that she hated for so long, had simply accepted them for what they were, and helped them to understand and not fear their powers. He had spoken to Arwen so lovingly, and referred to Elrond and Elros with such obvious affection, even when he thought himself without an audience and he had no reason to feign such things...

The monster she had always assumed him to be would never have done such a thing. A shudder ran through her. What if she had been wrong about him, all along? If he was, as Finrod had once told her, as much a victim of circumstances and ill-made choices as she had once been... Where did that leave her, and the hatred and rage she had nurtured for so long?

Could she really reconsider and change everything she had thought she knew about Maglor Feanorian?

Her mind whirling with contradictory thoughts, she returned to her other form and flew away hastily. But she was unable to shake the thoughts that had now taken root in her mind.

If Maglor had truly earned forgiveness from the Valar, and from those he had slain... was it possible, in the future, for her to perhaps do the same?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the 'abilities' revealed in this chapter, you can read more about it in the companion story Virnë, which is Part Two of this Peredhil series. It can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687422


	13. Chapter 13

Maglor inhaled deeply, attempting to gather his thoughts before entering his uncle's study. After a long talk with Arwen last night, when he had coaxed her to tell him exactly what Elwing had said to upset her so, he had been left seething, and had decided that asking Arafinwë to take Elwing to task could wait until he had calmed down. What had Elwing been _thinking_ , telling the tale of Sirion in such explicit and bleak terms to one as young as Arwen? And in front of Anariel, as well!

He and Arwen had broken their fast in Maglor's own suite that morning, neither of them being much in the mood to socialize early in the morning. They had then gone to Eärwen's workroom, where he had left Arwen with Eärwen and Amarië, both of whom were eager to have a young elleth to begin teaching the art of weaving to, something that they both enjoyed.

Maglor had come straight from there to speak to Arafinwë, while hoping that his own anger towards Elwing did not bias his version of yesterday's events too much. He needed Arafinwë to back him up, not for his uncle to assume that he was being vindictive towards Elwing out of spite. He closed his eyes, once again running through what he planned to say, before knocking gently on Arafinwë's study door.

“Come in!” Arafinwë sounded cheerful, as usual. Maglor already felt bad for bearing news that would spoil his uncle's mood, but something had to be said to Elwing- there could not be another scene like the one that had occurred yesterday. It was cruel to Arwen, to Anariel and to Ingalaurë, although the latter had (thankfully) understood little of the Sindarin speech.

Opening the door, Maglor saw that Finrod was stood beside his father, behind the desk. They both looked up from the papers they had been examining when he entered, and while both smiled, he could see in their eyes they knew why he was here.

“This is about last night.” Finrod was the first to speak, his tone grave. Of course, Maglor realized, Ingalaurë would have told his parents what had happened.

Arafinwë was frowning. “I'm sure you're aware that this is complicated, Nephew. I do not doubt that Elwing spoke out of turn, upsetting young Arwen, but Elwing is not subject to my rule. I cannot publicly chastise or punish her for words spoken to her own granddaughter, however much I disapprove of them.”

Maglor had expected as much, and nodded. “I do not ask for public condemnation of her actions. But Arwen is your great-great granddaughter as well, through Galadriel- er, Artanis. Surely her pain grieves you, and you would at least see Elwing apologize for causing it?”

Finrod raised his hand. “Perhaps first, you can tell us exactly what was said, if Arwen has confided in you?”

Maglor nodded slowly, well aware that it might have occurred to his uncle and cousin that he might be exaggerating Arwen's upset out of some dislike of Elwing, he held their gazes and repeated what Arwen had told him the previous night, using her own words whenever possible.

As he spoke, Arafinwë's face became grim, and Finrod paled. When he had finished relating the tale, his uncle looked uncharacteristically stern, his eyes hard and cold as stone. “I will have words with Elwing: such things are not fit for children's ears, even if-” he cut himself off, looking almost abashed.

“Even if they are true from her perspective.” Maglor completed the sentence, feeling guilt press upon his shoulders again. “It is well, Uncle, you do not need to feign ignorance of the sins committed by my family and I.”

“Regardless, Elwing should not use a child to air her grievances or to attempt to punish you.” Finrod shook his head in disgust and turned to his father. “Shall I fetch her here for you, Atar?”

“Yes, ion nin, and her daughter does not need to hear any more speech unfit for her ears, so if you could take little Anariel to join Amarië and your amme in their workroom-” Arafinwë turned to Maglor. “I believe Arwen is there also, learning to weave?”

At Maglor's nod of acknowledgement, Arafinwë dismissed Finrod with a wave, then fixed his gaze upon Maglor. “I wish for you to remain while I speak to Elwing. You need not speak, in fact I would advise you do not, but I now believe some ground rules need to be established regarding your conduct around each other, and around Arwen.” He lowered his voice. “I do not believe you have ever said or done aught to warp Arwen's views of past events or distant kin, but this will seem fairer, less biased on my part, if I address you and Elwing at the same time.”

The very notion that he might ever have done anything to harm Arwen made a bitter taste rise in Maglor's mouth, but he could see the sense in his uncle's words- treat them both equally, and Elwing (and her parents, later) would be less likely to feel slighted or overly defensive. He moved off to one side, leaning against the wall, so he would not be standing side by side with Elwing or with Arafinwë when Finrod escorted Elwing to the study and this discussion began.

A few minutes later, Finrod re-opened the door without knocking, ushering in a harried-looking Elwing, who executed a hurried curtsey to Arafinwë once she seemed to realize where she was. It was clear Finrod had not told her why she had been sent for, because there was faint puzzlement in her eyes as she greeted the king, but, behind it, Maglor was almost sure he could see guilt and uncertainty.

Well, if she was suffering for the hurt she had caused Arwen yesterday, so much the better, as far as he was concerned. Perhaps that would mean she would be more receptive to the conditions Arafinwë was about to set for her future dealings with Arwen, and with Maglor himself.

Finrod slipped around the desk and stood just behind his father, to his right: the customary position of the heir. Elwing was left standing in front of the desk, looking very young and out of place in the Noldoran's study, with her arms wrapped around herself, making her appear even smaller than she was. Guilt and unease were plain to see now on her face, and Maglor felt a swell of pity for her despite his still-smoldering anger at the anguish and tears she had caused, that he had calmed Arwen down from last night. Here and now, to his eyes, Elwing scarcely looked older than Arwen- young, naïve and vulnerable.

As Arafinwë began speaking, his tone grave, his focus on Elwing, Maglor considered Arwen for a moment: she had seemed happy enough to be left with Eärwen and Amarië, to learn a new skill, but she had never enjoyed sewing or embroidery- would weaving prove much different, really? He hoped she was doing well and not being difficult, as she could do if she became bored.

 _Eärwen raised Galadriel_ , he reminded himself. _Arwen will be no challenge compared to her in her childhood_. Holding back a smile at the thought, he returned his concentration to the study and the matter at hand. Elwing's gaze was fixed upon the ground, but from the stubborn set of her shoulders, it did not seem as if co-operation with the rules Arafinwë was now attempting to set regarding contact with Arwen was something Elwing would accept without a fight.

Maglor resisted the urge to sigh, already suspecting this would become another argument before it was over. At least this time there were no elflings present to overhear- that was one small mercy, he supposed.


	14. Chapter 14

Elwing stood rigidly before the King of the Noldor, her clenched fists concealed by the drape of her long sleeves. Keeping her gaze upon him seemed the best way to avoid looking at Maglor Feanorian. Despite the revelation she had had yesterday, that perhaps he was not _quite_ the demon she had built him into in her mind over the long years, he was still part of the family that had once destroyed hers. And although he appeared to genuinely care for Arwen, and she for him, Elwing did not fully trust that he had repented all his other sins. _Blood upon the hands does not wash away so easily._

Arafinwë regarded her inscrutably for some time, and she was almost squirming under his gaze before it was over. _He is not my king, I am not subject to him_ , she reminded herself. If she was anyone's subject, she was Olwë's, her great-uncle several times over, since she dwelt near Alqualondë. Yet still she found herself flinching when Arafinwë finally spoke.

“I have to admit, I was appalled to learn of the manner in which you spoke to young Arwen last night.” There was no anger in his voice, merely disappointment and dislike. That somehow made Elwing feel worse than if he had shouted.

Arafinwë continued without giving her a chance to reply. “I do not think that anyone would deny you have a right to be angry with Maglor, and his family, for their past actions, but I assure you, their crimes have been paid for many times over. If that were not so, do you think Maglor would have been permitted to return to this land?” He took a deep breath, his blue eyes now piercing. “However, your attempt to poison the mind of a child against him, my own nephew, cannot be overlooked and will not be tolerated again.”

Elwing turned slightly, so she was now looking at Maglor instead of at Arafinwë, her eyes narrowing. “I spoke only the truth to my granddaughter.” She felt a bitter rush of joy when Maglor flinched at that, but it was soon quelled by Arafinwë's next words, spoken in a harsher tone than he had yet used.

“That may be- as you see it. But any grievances between you and Maglor is an adult matter and should have been dealt with in private. Such things are not for the ears of elflings, as you well know.”

“Not to mention, you also told your macabre tale within earshot of my son, and your own daughter.” Finrod's tone was icy, and to hear him, who had always treated her kindly until now, speak to her so, stung Elwing, and tears sprang to her eyes.

“I did not intend to upset Anariel-”

“Then why did you speak in such a way in front of her?” Maglor spoke for the first time, and the reasonable tone of his voice had Elwing grinding her teeth together in annoyance- how could he speak so calmly when he had to know he was the _reason_ things were going so wrong in her attempts to befriend Arwen, to let her granddaughter know her side of the story? Adopting her iciest tone, she gave him a disdainful look, quite forgetting the presence of Arafinwë and Finrod. “I felt she deserved to hear what took place at Sirion in my own words. I admit I became overzealous in the detail I used, and I should not have done, but she should know the truth of who you are, not whatever idolized version she- and Elrond too, no doubt- see you as in their minds!”

Maglor's eyes blazed in sudden wrath, and he took half a step forward, before pausing where he stood and visibly taking a calming breath. When he spoke next, his words were clipped, taut with restraint. “I assure you, my lady, I have never, in all my years of knowing Elrond and his children, said or done anything to glorify my past, nor to speak ill of you or your kin, whatever you tell yourself.”

“Oh, I suppose that is why Arwen would barely look at me when we met, when she had no problem showing her obvious affection for you!”

“Perhaps you should consider the possibility that Arwen simply takes time to be comfortable around an utter stranger- not helped by the fact that you have done little more than show yourself to be ill-tempered and rife with jealousy, and try to turn her against me, when I have been part of her family for her entire life, and love her as dearly as if she was my grandchild by blood-”

“I suggest you do not get too accustomed to that!” Elwing's next words were a hiss. Turning her back on Maglor completely, she looked at Arafinwë, her grey eyes shining like stormclouds with the sun shining through them- bright but ominous. “As Arwen is my granddaughter, I will be officially requesting custody of her. I wish for her to come and dwell with us- my husband, Anariel and I.”

Elwing felt brief satisfaction as Maglor's face turned ashen, and Finrod went to his side to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it was short-lived.

Arafinwë's face was steely, utterly uncompromising. “No.”

Elwing's jaw dropped. “'No'? I am Arwen's closest kin in these lands. By law-”

“By law, it is clearly the wish of Arwen's parents that Maglor have charge of her until she reaches her majority, as seen in a written letter from Elrond himself, bearing his personal seal, and even if I wished to overturn that in favor of your request- which, given your current attitude, I do not- I could not do so. In the case of a minor, the wishes of their parents come above all, even if said parents do not dwell in Valinor.”

Elwing was almost shaking with rage. Privately, she was sure that Maglor must have somehow convinced Elrond to send such a letter, to keep what he could of his stolen family for himself. He had no right! But she could see there would be no persuading Arafinwë to believe that, so she lapsed into silence, her jaw set.

“Now, if we could cease this arguing and return to the actual reason you were called here?” Finrod's melodious, calming voice cooled the rage boiling in Elwing's blood, and Maglor seemed to relax as well.

Arafinwë nodded. “Yes. Thank you, ion nin.”

Finrod inclined his head before returning to stand at his father's side.

“Now. Elwing. I assume you do still wish to have some contact with Arwen, despite the outburst you just had?”

“Yes.” She had to force the word out, finding it hard to believe that she alone was being called out in this way- Maglor had been just as angry as she was, and had also lashed out, why was he not being taken to task? _It must have benefits, being the King's nephew!_ She thought, with venom in her words.

Arafinwë stood taller, almost looming over her, and not for the first time, Elwing cursed her shorter-than-many-Elves height.

“These will be the conditions of you having any contact with her from now on. This is not open for debate or negotiation. Firstly, any visits you have will be here, within the palace, and supervised, by either one of my family, or by Maglor himself. Secondly, you will _watch your tongue_ regarding what you do or do not say in Arwen's hearing. There will be no more discussions of tragic or Oath-driven events from the First Age. Thirdly, if at any point Maglor comes to believe this contact is having a detrimental effect on the child, then he will let me know, and he and I will decide, together, whether the situation needs reviewing.”

Elwing opened her mouth to protest, but Arafinwë slammed a hand down upon his desk. “As I said, this is final. I will leave you and Maglor to decide between yourselves how and when contact will resume, but,” here he looked at both of them pointedly, “I do not wish to hear anything besides civil conversation between the two of you from now on, is that clear?”

Maglor nodded easily enough. Elwing barely twitched her head, but apparently that was enough, for Arafinwë left the study. After a worried glance between Maglor and Elwing, Finrod followed.

Maglor let out a deep sigh. “I do not do this to harm you, Elwing, whatever you might think of me. All I do is for Arwen's sake. She is still very fragile. I do not think you fully understand how damaged she was by what she endured before coming West.”

Elwing wanted to storm from the room. She wanted to spit in his face and refuse to ever speak to him again, but... he _did_ sound sincere, and 'what she endured'? 'Damaged'? Ëarendil had informed her that Arwen had been in Lord Irmo's gardens for a year, but he had not gone into detail about why, saying only that she would not wish to know what had happened. She folded her arms, now staring at Maglor imperiously, doing her best to channel Melian at her most regal. “What, exactly, happened to my granddaughter in Middle-Earth, Feanorian?”

Maglor looked hesitant, almost wary. “I am not sure...”

“She is my kin. I have a right to know what ill befell her. And if you truly wish to begin a reconciliation between us, especially if we are to see one another regularly, when I visit Arwen, then this is a good start. _Tell me._ ”

Maglor swallowed hard, then, without meeting her eyes, began to explain.

Elwing could only listen in abject horror as he told the tale as briefly as he could, her hand pressed to her mouth to keep from screaming. How could such a dreadful thing have come to pass, a child as young as Arwen caught up in such a hellish situation, at the mercy- or utter lack thereof- of Morgoth, with no-one in Arda any the wiser until it was almost too late?!


	15. Chapter 15

Elwing was not entirely sure how she came to be here, stumbling along a corridor, Maglor's horrifying tale of Arwen's recent history resounding in her mind. Her imagination was conjuring images of the child at the mercy of the Enemy, and she could feel tears upon her face, but fragmented memories of her own childhood were mingling amongst them- a frightened child at the mercy of monstrous beings (never mind that her childhood 'monsters' had been Elves), forced to leave her (dead) parents and her home, travelling to the Sea, eventually crossing it... She was scarcely aware of the fact that, in her mind, Maglor's voice sounded just how she would imagine the Enemy's. Ghostly mirages replaced her true surroundings, so that she did not see the halls of Arafinwë's palace, but the subterranean carved halls of long-lost Menegroth, and the sturdy stone dwellings of Sirion, with dead or dying Elves dotted hither and thither, and she knew only a need to flee, to find safety-

“Elwing!” A hand gently brushed her shoulder and she whirled, hands raised defensively, a scream for help building in her throat.

Maglor stood some distance from her, his eyes wide, his expression kind, but somehow wary.

Elwing's pounding heart slowed, and gradually her terror, and the phantasms of her past, subsided. Inhaling deeply several times, she repeated, silently, the same mantra she had used for uncounted years to ease her nightmares: _You are safe. The past is gone. It cannot harm you._ Quickly wiping tears from her face, she stood as tall as she could, attempting to look composed and at ease- it was incredibly rare, these days, for her night terrors to surface while she was awake- such a thing had not happened for at least a century. She hoped she had not made too great a spectacle of herself in front of Maglor.

“I apologize for my... reaction.” She just managed to keep her voice steady, her nails digging into her palms to keep herself grounded in the here and now. “Hearing what happened to Arwen...“ She shuddered. “That such a thing could happen to a mere child, it is...”

“The stuff of nightmares.” Maglor agreed, but his concerned eyes remained on her, piercing, as if he saw more of her mind than she wished.

“Indeed.” She broke eye contact. “But she is well now? Or, as well as can be expected?”

“Yes.” Maglor hesitated. “Most ills of the fea, no matter how fresh or old they may be, can be tended to in Lord Irmo's care.” There was a hint of something else in the simple words, as if he were trying to suggest something, but Elwing willfully ignored the implication: there was nothing wrong with her!

“I am glad of that. At any rate, I should go to check on Anariel, and no doubt you will wish to find Arwen.” She could taste bitterness on her tongue as she said those words, but, well... she _had_ spoken too plainly of the fall of Sirion to Arwen, and that had not been fair. Maglor might deserve blame, but Arwen did not need to suffer for it. “Would you... inform her that I apologize for any distress I have caused? I... I still wish to see her, but perhaps you and she should decide when that should take place.” Turning away from his too-knowing eyes, she walked rapidly away from him, rounding a corner, then another, before allowing herself to lean heavily against a wall.

Why were the fears from her youth resurfacing in her mind, during waking hours, now, after she had known years of peace, keeping such things buried? How could she lull her thoughts back into quiescence once more? Her hands trembled, tears stinging her eyes, as the screams she had heard so long ago, mixed with the clashing of swords, echoing through the halls of two of her homes, rang in her ears. Shaking her head sharply, she clenched her teeth. She needed to pull herself together, get over this foolishness so she could be the Lady that everyone expected her to be: and the mother that little Anariel deserved.

Swallowing hard, she swiped tears from her face once again, and smoothed her hair, forcing a smile onto her lips. Hopefully this would give her a 'normal' enough appearance so she could collect her daughter. Perhaps, despite her longing to get to know Arwen, it would be best if she took Anariel and returned to their tower home for now, to take some time to calm down before reaching out to her granddaughter once more. Being here in Tirion... it wasn't good for her. Not at the moment.

* * *

Maglor had stared after Elwing for several minutes, torn on whether or not he should follow her: she had been in great distress when she had fled Arafinwë's study. She had not seemed to hear him calling after her, and when he'd caught up with her, he had been shocked: her face was ashen, her eyes wild, roaming the halls as if she were lost in some different time or place. She had looked, quite frankly, as Maedhros had, long ago, when he became confused about where he was, lost in the anguish of his torments. The very thought made his brow crease in concern. Elwing's moods, her recurring need to lash out, to punish him... there were a _lot_ of similarities between her behavior so far, and the erratic tempers that had so often seized his poor, broken older brother. It was glaringly obvious to Maglor, now that his anger with Elwing had cooled, but... she had dwelled here in Valinor for over an Age. Surely, if she needed healing from her past hurts, someone would have noticed, and something would have been done for her?

Recalling what he had just seen, however, Maglor could only surmise that no such thing had happened, and his worry deepened. Elwing lived in an isolated place, with only her daughter for company. Ëarendil, as he understood from Finrod, passed his days there, but as he sailed the skies each night, weariness and slumber would take a lot of his time. And little Anariel had grown up with her mother- how would she know if something was troubling her Naneth, if things had 'always' been so?

Attempting to discuss this with Elwing himself seemed unwise: quite apart from their troubled history, Maglor knew, from his experiences with Maedhros' trauma, that if someone did not _want_ to admit something was wrong, there was little to be done. Yet he could not sit by and do nothing! It was clear, from the way that Elwing's mind had slipped out of reality, then snapped 'back' so quickly, denying that aught was wrong, that some manner of intervention was needed. Perhaps if he spoke to Finrod...

 _Melian_. The Maia's name sprung to his mind from nowhere, but it made sense. She had tended Arwen during her time in the Gardens of Lorien, and had been far kinder to Maglor than he had expected (or deserved.) Surely, if he could reach out to her somehow, she would wish to help her great-granddaughter?

How to contact her though, he was not certain. Travel to Lorien, without leave or invitation from Lord Irmo, was not done. No couriers would go there, either, without aforementioned leave to do so. It did not appear he would be able to contact Melian to raise his concerns for Elwing. How else was he to...

The solution came to him abruptly. It was absurdly easy, and paradoxically, one of the most frightening things he had ever done. Dior and Nimloth, Elwing's parents, remained in Tirion at present. He could, and indeed should, go to them with his worries. Surely, even if they at present had no idea that their daughter was so troubled, they would wish to know, and to aid her.

Whether or not they would accept such a thing, coming from one such as Maglor though... How could he approach them, two elves that his own brother had once slain, and speak to them of their own daughter's troubles as if he knew better than them?

Granted, having witnessed Maedhros' deterioration after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, he _did_ know the warning signs of a breakdown, but how could he ever convince Dior and Nimloth to believe that?

He set his shoulders. He needed to check on Arwen for now, but after that, he would raise this matter with Finrod. His cousin had always been skilled at diplomacy and keeping the peace, and he would not wish to see Elwing suffering from her past any more than Maglor did.


	16. Chapter 16

Arwen wove more thread onto the loom she was using, her hands moving almost without conscious thought, adding to the tapestry that depicted her adar's house sigil. When it was complete, she intended to place it on the wall of her bedroom, as a reminder of her old home. Weaving was not as tedious as needlework, in fact she rather enjoyed it: it provided results far more rapidly.

Next to her, Anariel, working on an even smaller loom, that had been clearly fashioned for a child, let out a yelp of pain. Glancing over, Arwen stifled a smile- her little aunt had leaned too close and gotten her own long hair snagged in the threads. Rising, she quickly freed the golden hair, then swiftly braided it to keep it out of a red-faced Anariel's way.

Eärwen, who had broken off her conversation with Amarië and risen to come and help, threw Arwen a smile of thanks and resumed her own weaving, without drawing further attention to Anariel's embarrassment.

“I don't think I like weaving.” Anariel muttered sullenly.

“Ssh,” Arwen chided her, softly. “It's good of Eärwen and Aunt Amarië to teach us.”

It appeared she had not spoken softly enough, for Amarië looked up at her words. “I must admit, I am surprised that neither of you have learned to weave before.”

Arwen shrugged the question off. “My naneth- er, amme did offer to teach me, not long before...” She let her words trail off, feeling tears pricking her eyes, fighting off a wave of longing. Nana should be the one teaching her skills like this.

“What of you, Anariel?” Eärwen spoke up quickly, as if she had seen Arwen's upset and wished to change the subject. “Why has your mother not taught you to weave? She has some skill in it, from what I recall when I first got to know her, so long ago.”

Anariel blinked. “I'm not sure. She does give me lessons in writing, reading and arithmetic, but not much else.”

Her words gave Arwen a chance to query something that had been puzzling her for a while, something Ingalaurë had told her, about Anariel's lack of interest in simple play. “So when you're not doing your lessons, what do you and Elwing do?”

“Spend the day outside on the beach.” Anariel sighed as she spoke, as if describing something dull. For Arwen, who had never spent time at any kind of beach for leisure, this reaction was odd. Anariel's next words clarified her mood, however. “Nana's birds all come to see her, and she speaks with them, gathering news from Middle-Earth, and I always look for something new to show Ada when I see him, but there is not much to look at by now, because we go there so often.”

Arwen thought this sounded very dull, if she was honest. But perhaps she had misunderstood something- after all, not long ago, she had learned that she could turn _into_ a bird, although Maglor insisted she kept that a secret for now. Spending time speaking with birds was not so strange, in comparison. “Do Elwing's birds speak to you as well?”

“No. Only Nana. She spends hours with them.”

“Instead of with you?” Eärwen's words sounded like a question, but there was a steely note in her voice. Amarië too looked displeased by Anariel's words. Anariel looked from one adult to the other, her expression puzzled, before turning to Arwen, as if asking for help.

“Nana always spends time with her birds while I explore. She always has. I get up in the morning, and while I have my breakfast, Nana returns from seeing Ada on Vingilot, then we do lessons. I help make lunch and clean, then we go outside and Nana visits her birds. Is that... wrong?”

Arwen's eyes stung with tears again, as memories of her own naneth flooded her mind: reading to her, or playing hide-and-find in the woods when Arwen had been small, teaching her how to sew and embroider, helping her learn how to best her brothers at chess, showing her how to tend a garden, or taking walks besides the river that often ended in a water-dousing contest and much laughter... Nana had always taken some part of each day to spend with Arwen, even if it had been only while one or the other was fitted for new clothing... Arwen blinked back tears as she explained that to Anariel, telling her some of the fun she used to have with Nana at home. “Doesn't Elwing ever do things like that with you, just to spend time with you for fun?”

Anariel tilted her head to one side, looking fascinated at Arwen's tale. “No... Well, sometimes when Ada isn't too tired, I get to go on board Vingilot with him, and we pretend to sail. He makes me laugh, but he's usually too tired to spend time with me. Nana doesn't really laugh much, and she likes me to not make too much noise. She likes peace and quiet better. Unless Ada is there. She's happy then. Mostly.”

Amarië made a strange choked off sound, turning her face away. Eärwen clapped her hands together, wiping a look of anger from her face as easily as blinking. “Well, we shall have to do something about that!” She was smiling, but something in her face, a stern look, reminded Arwen of her own daernaneth, which she supposed made sense- Eärwen was Daernaneth's mother, so of course they were alike in some ways. “But for now, I think we should set aside this weaving, and perhaps take a walk outdoors, make the most of this sunny day.” Her eyes gleamed. “I'm sure that new dog of yours would enjoy some exercise, Arwen, and we could bring along your puppy, if you wished, Anariel. I don't believe you have had a chance to walk her yet, have you?”

“No.” Anariel's golden braid flew as she shook her head, clearly glad for the change of subject. “Can I go and fetch her now?” She was already on her feet, her weaving abandoned.

Arwen felt a similar eagerness to be outside, her eyes already darting to the window, through which the bright sun was visible, but she diligently finished the row that she was weaving before standing and turning- politely- to Eärwen. “Shall I go with Anariel to fetch the puppies, then?”

“Yes, run along.” Eärwen smiled indulgently. “We will join you shortly. Meet us next to the fountain carved in the likeness of Lady Uinen in ten minutes or so.”

Arwen nodded to show that she had heard, but Anariel had already seized her hand and was tugging her out of the door. “Can we go and fetch my puppy first? I haven't really seen her since we brought her home, only for quick visits!”

“But my dog is closer, he's only in my rooms... your puppy is outside in the stables...” Anariel's face fell and Arwen shook her head. “Oh, all right, come on. We'll fetch your dog first.”

As they left the workroom and made their way downstairs, Arwen glanced back, surprised to see Eärwen and Amarië deep in conversation, speaking too quietly to be heard. She hesitated, wondering if she could catch what they were saying.

“Come _on_ , Arwen!” Anariel's pull on her hand almost made her overbalance on the stairs. Catching herself, she laughed.

“Alright, alright. Oh, and I was wondering, have you named your dog yet? I haven't been able to think of a name for mine. Do you have any ideas?”

“No, I was hoping you would.”

“Hm, what if we chose similar names? The pups are brother and sister, after all...”

* * *

Half of Eärwen's attention was on the retreating sounds of the girls' chatter- having raised four elflings herself, she knew well that they might eavesdrop if they suspected they were being spoken about. “Amarië, you need not hide your expression now, we are alone.”

Her daughter-in-law whirled round, her fists clenched, face white with suppressed fury. “I cannot _believe_ what I just heard!”

“I know, I know...”

“How dare Elwing call herself a mother! Leaving an elfling as young as Anariel alone at night, allowing her to fend for herself for breakfast, then not being willing to let the elfling simply be a child and run and play _with_ her because she 'prefers peace and quiet'?!”

Eärwen exhaled slowly. “I knew Anariel led a lonely life in that tower, Arafinwë and I have raised the matter with Dior in the past, but I had no idea it was this bad.”

“Anariel seems to have no idea that her life is so unfair either.” Amarië shook her head slowly. “I suppose we should be grateful that the neglect she described went over young Arwen's head as well.”

“Indeed.” Eärwen shook her head. “I will find some excuse to delay Elwing's departure from Tirion. Dior and Nimloth, and perhaps Ëarendil, if a visit from him can be arranged, need to be made aware of the true extent of this situation.” She met Amarië's eyes. “Nothing is to be said to Elwing of this until we know more.” Her tone made it clear that this was not a suggestion from mother to daughter-in-law, but a command from a Queen to her subject, and Amarië nodded.

“As you wish.”

“It may be that Anariel is exaggerating, or that she simply phrased herself badly, after all. She is very young, and may not be the best judge of an adult's moods or decisions.” Eärwen shook her head sadly, wishing that she believed her own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I haven't made anyone hate Elwing again with this chapter! Just to clarify: Elwing as I see her never got to be a child, as circumstances and loss made her grow up too quickly, and she therefore has no idea how to really be a parent. She is raising Anariel the only way she knows how- through the example of her own childhood, which of course was far from ideal. Elwing is not willingly hurting her daughter, she just does not know any better. Earendil doesn't realize how distant Elwing can be, and no-one else is at the tower often enough to notice any problems. Anariel of course has no reason to know any better- her life has always been this way.
> 
> Amarie and Earwen might not know the exact details of Elwing's (lack of) childhood and how it's scarred her, which is why they're so angry- they don't know the whole story.
> 
> Hope that clears up any misunderstandings.
> 
> (If anyone has Elvish suggestions for puppy names, let me know in the comments? I could use some help!)


	17. Chapter 17

Arwen could barely keep from smiling as she and Daerada rode their horses down the steep hill of Túna: it was the first time they had left Tirion since arriving there, and the chance to spend a day exploring mostly empty countryside (not counting the estates of the nobles dotted here and there) and having Daerada to herself, after several days of him paying calls on Arafinwë and Eärwen, and on Elwing's parents, Dior and Nimloth, from which he always returned looking troubled, made this day out even more special.

Her mare tossed its head, pulling at the reins as she saw the vast, rolling green expanse of fields before them, and, after a quick glance back at Daerada, who nodded, Arwen lengthened the reins and nudged the horse with her heels, urging her on. Obligingly, the mare picked up speed, and soon Arwen felt as if she were flying rather than riding, her hair streaming behind her like a banner. The pounding hooves of Daerada's stallion sounded like an echo, and she let out a laugh of pure joy as she pulled ahead of him once they reached level ground. Spurring her mount on faster, she was some distance from the city before Daerada called to her to stop. Signalling with the reins, she slowed her horse, then circled back towards Daerada, her hair windswept, cheeks flushed with color. “Sorry...?” She ventured, unsure if she had ridden too far: he had said that he wanted to be able to see her at all times, after all.

“It is well,” Daerada reassured her. “But you do not wish to exhaust your horse so early in the day, do you? I brought lunch with us, so that we could stay outdoors for most of today, after all.”

“Oh. Right.” Arwen giggled a little sheepishly, leaning forward to pat her mare's neck in thanks. “Sorry, it's just, I haven't ridden since... before we came here. I'd forgotten how much I like it.”

Daerada drew his horse level with hers. “You don't need to apologize. Seeing you happy again...” He trailed off. “I just want you to be careful, with your horse as well as yourself.”

“I will be. I promise.” Trying to bring the subject round to a less serious one, she cast about for something to say. “I hope Anariel is alright. You never did say why she had to leave so suddenly, or why she couldn't go with Elwing...” Arwen frowned. A few days ago, after a long meeting that had taken place in Arafinwë's private rooms (Arwen and Ingalaurë had been eavesdropping, though no-one knew it), involving Daerada, Arafinwë, Eärwen, Dior, Nimloth, and Elwing, during which there had been some shouting, something being smashed, and loud crying, then, with little warning, two days later, a very tearful Anariel had been taken back to Alqualondë by her uncles Eluréd and Elurín, while Dior and Nimloth were escorting a white-faced, listless Elwing (who hadn't even wanted to see Anariel or Arwen, except to say a brief, emotionless goodbye) to the Gardens of Lorien.

All that Arwen knew was that Elwing needed healing of some sort, and would return to collect her daughter when she was well. She couldn't help but worry about her little aunt though- she had never been away from Elwing, so far as Arwen knew. She would miss her nana a lot. And what of Ëarendil, had he been told of what was going on?

It had plagued on her mind ever since, so now, out of Tirion and alone with Daerada, feeling braver, she chanced another question. “Do you think time in the Gardens will help Elwing, as it did me?”

Daerada sighed. “I hope so, tithen el. In truth, I think she should have been offered healing long before now. There are matters in her past that have left scars on her, that no-one here seems to have noticed.” His eyes were bleak, distant, as if he were thinking of something or someone else. “At least, this time, help may be given in time to change the outcome.” He blinked, and his eyes refocused as he reached across and smoothed Arwen's wayward hair. “Anariel will be fine in her uncles' charge. Ëarendil will be kept informed, and check on her, and Elwing will begin to recover now that she is receiving help. You do not need to worry.”

Involuntarily, Arwen shuddered. “But Elwing wasn't hurt by- I mean, it wasn't because of....” She trailed off, icy fingers of fear trailing down her spine. She knew it was impossible for Elwing's problems, whatever they were, to have the same cause as her own, but still wanted Daerada to confirm it.

“No.” Daerada's voice was firm. “Elwing is just trying to cope with a lot of hurt from her past, people she loved and lost. It is _nothing_ like what you went through, I promise.”

Arwen inhaled shakily, nodding, but she didn't reply out loud. She'd had another nightmare about _him_ last night, and didn't want to keep thinking about such things now. “I think I'll write to Anariel, as soon as I can. She'll miss her Nana...” A lump rose in her throat, as an image of her own naneth came to her mind. “I know how that feels.”

Maglor nudged his horse still closer to hers, and managed to wrap an arm around her, murmuring barely-intelligible words of comfort, as he used to when she was tiny. Welcoming the familiarity of his hug, she leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes until the swell of loneliness eased.

Eventually, she sat upright, feeling a little silly for crying when, right now, it was surely Anariel, far away in Alqualondë, who was truly upset. “Sor-”

Daerada's finger pressed to her lips, silencing her. There was a bittersweet look of happiness about him. “You are so much like your adar sometimes, trying to apologize for merely having emotions. But come! I brought you here to show you around our new home. There is far more to Valinor than Tirion.” Clicking his tongue, he set his horse walking again, Arwen's mare falling into step as well, with almost no guidance from her.

Curiosity pricked at Arwen, and her melancholy lifted slightly. “Where are we going?” For now she realized that Daerada was leading her in a particular direction, not merely riding to show her the scenery, which was beautiful: clear, cloudless blue skies stretching endlessly over rolling green fields, intermingled with 'quilted' patches of gold that had to be wheat or grain fields, the landscape dotted here and there with large, sprawling estates and grand houses.

“You will soon see...” Daerada's eyes were scanning the nearest estates. “Many of these did not exist the last time I was here, but I wanted to show you... there!” Turning his mount, he set off at a trot down a stony, winding pathway. Unsure of where they were, Arwen nonetheless followed, but soon stopped short when she took in the house that stood before them.

Partly hidden from view by a small copse of trees, the red brick building with a triangular pointed roof that rose almost like a tower, distinct from the rest of the roof, was _beautiful._ The brick facade was sporadically covered in a mixture of ivy and an unusual red-flowering bush, and the white-framed windows, although neglected and stained with age, still caught the eye.

It was nothing like the grandly built, gleaming homes in Tirion, although it was as large as any of the dwellings in the city. This place, apart from clearly being older- there were no drapes in the windows, and the surrounding garden had clearly not been tended for a long time- had a more rustic, homely feel to it. Majestic purple-red mountains were visible in the distance, beyond the nearby trees, past the sprawl of green fields that surrounded the house. It reminded Arwen of home, of Rivendell. “What is this place, Daerada?” She hardly dared to whisper the words, afraid that the house would turn out to be a mirage.

He swallowed hard, and looked at the house rather than at her as he replied. “This was once the home of my brother, his wife and my nephew.”

Arwen, by now aware of more of Daerada's past, knew better than to ask where those people were now. “Who lives there now?” She ventured after a moment.

“No-one.” Daerada sighed. “But, my amil tells me, as I am the oldest remaining of my father's line, that the property rightly belongs to me.” He cast an eye over its dilapidated state. “It will take a great deal of work to make it habitable after so long.”

Arwen's heart skipped a beat. Habitable? For who? Not them, surely? She had assumed that Arafinwë's palace, where they were staying, _was_ their new home. “I don't understand...”

Daerada looked at her seriously. “Do you like the look of this house, Arwen?” He dismounted, coming to stand at her side, looking up at her earnestly. “The palace... it used to be my home, or one of them, long ago. But your adar did not grow up in such a luxurious place, and if he were here, I doubt he would wish for you to do so either.” He held her gaze. “I have seen that you are uncomfortable with life in the palace. It's so different to what you have known.”

Arwen squirmed a little. It was true, having servants who did _everything_ for you, and guards at each and every door was disconcerting. Back at home, there had been those who helped to run Rivendell, of course, and guards had patrolled the borders there, but it had not been as formal or as strict as it was here. In Arafinwë's palace, she had found, quite often, that a servant would spring from nowhere and insist on doing something that she was more than capable of doing for herself, and it felt.... odd, and wrong, to have so little freedom or privacy. The idea of a smaller home, for herself and Daerada, with only the help that they _needed_... it was tempting. She slipped off her own horse, gazing up at him critically, using her odd little gift of seeing colors as emotions to try and work out what he was feeling. He looked happy-and-sad, not an uncommon combination of fea-colors for him. “But... don't you want to stay with your uncle and aunt, and Finrod, and your amil and brothers, in the city?” She didn't want to be the reason that he left his family behind!

He now knelt before her. “Arwen, Tirion is less than an hour's ride from this place, and I never intended us to dwell in the palace forever. We are staying there until I find somewhere else, somewhere more private for us, that's all. We will still see my amil and brothers, and Finrod, Amarië and Ingalaurë regularly, I promise. I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear enough, but you needed to begin settling in, and then so much happened, with Elwing...” He shook his head. “At any rate, I hadn't considered _this_ place until Finrod suggested it. It housed a small family once. Perhaps, once it is ready to be lived in once more, it should be rid of the ghosts of the past, and serve that same purpose.”

Arwen slipped her hand into his, smiling. “So you really don't mind if we move in here once it's ready?” She looked back at the house, already seeing, in her mind, the gardens tidied, the paint freshly applied, curtains and drapes at the windows, the doors flung open, and the house filled with light. “It is even big enough for Adar, Nana, Elladan and Elrohir to join us someday!”

Daerada pulled her close in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Indeed. And of course, you and I will be the ones to choose things like furnishings and paint, since the house is empty at present.”

“We can plan rooms for everyone!” Arwen almost clapped with delight. “And plant a garden for Nana, and build a stable for some horses- and my dog, of course. Unless there already is a stable...” She tugged on Daerada's hand. “Can we go and look around?”

He nodded slowly, letting her lead him, although his eyes were distant. “Yes. It's high time this place was opened up again. It's sat empty for far too long. Now is a time for new beginnings. For this property, and for us.”

They tethered their horses to a nearby tree, then, hand in hand, they made their way towards the house that, unknown to Arwen, had once belonged to Curufin, his wife Leptafinye and their son Celebrimbor. As they drew closer to the house, cobwebs became visible, on the windows and hanging from the eaves. It would take a lot of work to make the house liveable, but the prospect of bringing new life to this abandoned place warmed Maglor's heart.

Perhaps it meant that the past truly could be laid to rest, and a better future forged for them all. He spared a thought for poor, damaged Elwing, now in Lord Irmo's care, hoping that, after all their fraught conversations, and her eventual hysterical breakdown, she was finally getting the help she needed, and little Anariel, uprooted from the only life she had known... He wished both of them well with all his being.

* * *

Elwing was subdued, her shoulders slumped, her eyes downcast as she was shown into a small grove deep within the Gardens of Lorien. Her parents had accompanied her to the Gates, both trying in vain to get her to cease weeping and to talk to them, but she could not, unable to even bid them farewell. She had barely held herself together to say goodbye to her daughter and granddaughter, and even now, just _thinking_ of Anariel, now she had actually heard what Eärwen (and Maglor, blast him) had been saying, now she understood that, unwittingly, she had neglected her child, denied her little girl a childhood, just as hers had been ripped from her... she could have dissolved into sobs then and there as she thought about it once again, fallen to the ground and never risen again, for the shame and grief she felt. And Elrond, her precious son, born when she had been so much younger... the brief time, those six years she had spent with him and Elros, had been little different to her time with Anariel. It was no wonder Elrond had grown to hate her! The weight of that thought brought her to her knees, but a slender arm wrapped around her, helping her back to her feet almost instantly.

Soft, warm hands wiped tears from her face, and as nightingale song trilled through the air, Elwing managed to raise her head, to find her great-grandmother gazing upon her, sympathy and kindness in her ageless eyes. Melian outstretched her arms and Elwing fell into them, giving into her sobs as she clung to her, seeking the comfort that she had wanted for so long, but never admitted to: someone who would just support her as she fell apart, without her needing to support them in return.

Soon, she found herself half-lying in the thick grass, her head on Melian's lap, the Maia stroking her hair as if she were a child.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Melian's voice was gentle, coaxing.

And for the first time in over two Ages, safe in her great-grandmother's embrace, with no-one there to judge her, Elwing let her guard down, and finally gave voice to her long suppressed grief and anger, feeling a strange relief as it purged itself from her like some noxious, choking poison.

* * *

Anariel turned her head away, pressing her face into her Uncle Elurín's tunic as their horses cantered along in the pre-dawn light and Alqualondë came into view. The wailing of the seagulls and the crash of the waves upon the shore was familiar to her, but she didn't want to see the city, much less stay here. She wanted to go _home_ , to the tower, and knowing that she couldn't made her want to cry again.

She didn't really understand what had happened in Tirion: after the day she had begun to learn weaving, with Arwen, there had been lots more questions about her life in the tower with Nana. Anariel had only told the truth, whether Nana was there or not, but then one day, Nana had returned from talking to Queen Eärwen, and she had been very upset. She wouldn't stop crying, not even to eat, and kept saying sorry she had been 'cruel' to Anariel, even though, as far as Anariel was concerned, she hadn't been: Nana was just... Nana. She had told Anariel to leave her alone, that she couldn't bear to see her, and that had hurt: Anariel didn't know what she'd done, and nobody really explained, except for Daerada and Daernana saying that Nana was ill, and had been for a long time. Anariel wasn't sure she believed that- she had never noticed anything wrong with her Nana until then!

Then it had been decided that Uncles Eluréd and Elurín would take Anariel to stay in Alqualondë 'for a time', however long that was, and she would be able to visit Ada, but not live in the tower for now. Finrod had said, before they'd left Tirion, that she might be able to visit Arwen and Ingalaurë as well, eventually. All Anariel cared about though, was when she could see Nana!

She knew that her grandparents had taken her mother to the Gardens of Lorien, to spend some time with healers, until she was better, but nobody could say _when_ she would be better!

“Anariel?” Elurín nudged her, trying to get her to turn her head. “We're almost home. Don't you want to see where you will be staying?”

“Nana didn't even seem upset when she said goodbye to me.” Anariel was hardly listening to her uncle's words. “She wouldn't even look at me.” A fear seized her, and she stared up at Elurín, her eyes wide. “Is it my fault she is unwell?”

“No.” Eluréd's voice was firm, almost commanding her attention. “I think your nana has been very unhappy for a very long time, since before you were born, and we all feel bad because someone- an adult- should have noticed, but we didn't. She hid it well, and now...” Eluréd looked grave.

“Now she is in the Gardens of Lorien, getting the help she needs, and when she is well, she will return to live with you and your Ada once again.” Elurín's voice was cheerful.

“But _when_? Nobody will tell me.” Anariel's lip wobbled. She had never been without Nana before.

She felt Uncle Elurín sigh. “I'm afraid we don't know how long it will be, Anariel. But we- and Adar and Naneth-”

“Daerada and Daernana to you.” Uncle Eluréd put in, as if she didn't know that. “Will take good care of you.” Pulling his horse to a stop, he dismounted, then reached for Anariel and helped her to the ground, allowing Elurín to dismount. “Come along, we will walk from here so you can see some of the city.” He offered his hand, but Anariel did not take it, instead turning her back on him. Maybe if she didn't do as he asked, he'd take her home to the tower? Nana wouldn't be there, but Ada would, some of the time, and Anariel could manage when he was away, she was sure.

Footsteps sounded behind her, coming towards them, but Anariel refused to turn, even when both her uncles let out exclamations of shock, then stammered greetings.

“So this is our youngest grandchild?” The voice that spoke was male, but deeper, gruffer somehow, less musical, than any ellon that Anariel had ever heard. Curiosity overcame her sulky mood, and she peeked over her shoulder.

The two newcomers were both tall and golden-haired, like Ada. The male who had spoken, whose blue eyes twinkled kindly, was smiling at her, one eye closing in a wink when he caught her sneaking a look. To Anariel's amazement, he had a short, thick beard, as yellow as his hair, but which, like his hair, was oddly streaked with grey. Fine lines creased his face, especially around his eyes, and, to her amazement, his ears were _rounded_.

Arm in arm with him was a golden-haired elleth. There was nothing truly unusual about her, except that she went barefoot, even on this paved road. She, like her companion, looked familiar, and the male had called her his grandchild, but Anariel was certain she had never seen either of them before. (And what was wrong with the male, that his hair was sprinkled with grey, his face creased, and his ears were round, not pointed as they should be?)

“It- it is an honor, Lady Idril, Lord Tuor.” Uncle Eluréd finally spoke. “What brings you here from Tol Eressëa?”

The elleth- Idril- arched an eyebrow. “We received word that our daughter-in-law is in the Gardens of Lorien, and will be there for some time, and surmised that our son and his daughter might welcome some company in her absence.”

It was then that Anariel remember where she had heard the names Idril and Tuor before, and, forgetting her petulant mood entirely, she turned to stare up (and up) at them, Eluréd and Elurín's presence all but forgotten. “You're Ada's parents?”

Idril nodded, looking straight at her for the first time. “Varda's stars, you look just like your father...”

“Thanks...” Anariel twisted her hands nervously. She had never met Ada's parents before, because they lived on the isle of Tol Eressëa, and Nana had never wanted to go that far from the tower, as it took days to sail from the mainland to the island. They _seemed_ kind, but still she didn't know them. Without warning, Tuor caught her under the arms and swept her into his embrace. This movement was so familiar, because Ada often did it too, that Anariel didn't protest. Besides, she was fascinated by his beard and as he held her, she slyly reached for it. It was thicker and tougher, more wiry, than hair that grew on the head, to her surprise.

Tuor threw his head back and laughed. “ _Just_ like Ëarendil! He could never resist toying with my beard when he was a child either!”

Idril shook her head good-naturedly, smiling at them both as she reached to caress Anariel's hair. “It's lovely to meet you at last, Anariel.”

“And you.” Anariel muttered, her face reddening as shyness re-asserted itself.

“We've also learned recently that you also have an niece now in these lands. Your older brother's daughter?” Idril was addressing Anariel, but from her pointed tone, it was clear that she was including Eluréd and Elurín in the conversation. “I am sure that your other grandparents and uncles would have remembered to inform us of this eventually, but as we know now, perhaps you would like to tell us about your niece, Arwen, isn't it?”

Anariel nodded, and Idril took her hand as Tuor set her down. They engaged her in conversation, carefully steering the topic away from Elwing and the current situation, instead coaxing her into talking about her niece, and the fun that the three of them would have, getting to know each other, visiting Ada and seeing Vingilot, walking Anariel's puppy (which had made the journey to Alqualondë securely in a basket tied firmly onto the saddle of Eluréd's horse) and perhaps even going to Tirion to meet Arwen, keeping her occupied and raising her spirits so that Anariel was scarcely aware that she was being led into Alqualondë, her mother's brothers trailing behind them, for the time being, forgotten.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a little holiday without Nana, as Tuor had called it, Anariel mused as they made their way through the streets of the Swan-haven. After all, she had been having fun in Tirion with Arwen and Ingalaurë, until Nana got upset because of Maglor. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try and enjoy herself with her grandparents, old and new, while Nana was with the healers? She would get well, and come home, and surely she wouldn't want Anariel to be miserable while she was away?

No, Anariel decided. She would miss Nana, but she would try and be cheerful, so that when Nana came home, she would be proud of her. They'd be together again, Nana wouldn't be sad or angry any more, and everything would be better in the end.

She just hoped, as Eluréd and Elurín took over, guiding her, Tuor and Idril, into a huge house right on the quay, that it wouldn't take _too_ long for Nana to be healed. Arwen had been in Lorien for a year, if she remembered correctly. A year wasn't really _that_ long, was it? And she could at least write to Nana, let her know she was well and what she'd been doing, so Nana wouldn't have to worry about her.

Tuor was now saying something about calling on Ada, and Anariel nodded fervently. The sooner she could see her Ada at least, the better! Maybe she could talk Tuor and Idril into staying at the tower- even if she wasn't allowed to stay there alone, with Ada gone every night, they could, so he wouldn't be by himself all the time.

Satisfied with that, although she still missed her mother's presence, Anariel concentrated on Idril, Tuor, Eluréd and Elurín: sitting around moping wouldn't make the year go by any faster, would it? Besides, Nana being away, but being made well again was better than Nana being at home, angry or sad, with Anariel unable to make her feel better.

And Anariel had her uncles here, and new friends, in Arwen and Ingalaurë, and her new puppy, to write to, or visit, as well as Tuor and Idril- she supposed she should think of them as Daerada and Daernana, though that would become very confusing when Nana's parents returned to Alqualondë!

The sun, just rising, shone through the open window, sparkling off the sea, bathing the room in a golden glow. Anariel smiled; dawn meant a new day, and someday, hopefully soon, this dark time of being without Nana would end, fading like the twilight of Minuial as the sun rose upon a happier time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the house that Maglor and Arwen visit in this chapter (just picture it much less well-cared-for): https://architecture.desktopnexus.com/get/834398/?t=46nt62ktc09jhao7v06r8kap035ee53fd950849 
> 
> Thanks to Inwiste for coming up with the name for Curufin's wife, Leptafinye – which means 'clever fingered one', and for all the support and encouragement she's given me while writing this story.
> 
> Additional thanks to iviana_boltagon, The_Long_Defeat, Umeko, KittenWolf29, jamester56, Just a random mellon, and anyone else who has read, commented or left a Kudos. I'm glad you all enjoyed it!


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